Photo credit: digicia
Barsi whistled at the horses in the winter-white field. Twitching an ear, one turned home, leading the others.
His master marveled at how “his” horses liked Barsi more, but why wouldn’t they? Who brushed the snow from their backs, warmed their skinny legs? Who combed the snarls from their manes and the burrs from their flanks? Who prayed for them every day, calling them by their true names?
The first horse stopped, snorting, “Sweet-thing?”
Barsi held out a carrot. “Yes, Hears-a-Bird, your favorite.”
She nuzzled her thanks, ambling in.
See, horses are like anyone else. You just have to listen.
Word count: 100. Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers challenge. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting, and for providing this week’s original photo prompt, below. Click here to read the other stories written for this prompt.
And stay warm out there, my friends!
Photo © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields