"Hold the reins! Tack him down! You've got to be prepared to challenge him and meet him in fury of your own or you'll never be able to ride him properly!" Anran chided with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He watched prospective buyers attempt to tame his latest addition, a young stallion he affectionately dubbed Tempest. He was stubborn as a foal and was never properly broke at the fact that nearly every trainer than attempted to do so was promptly flung from his back. Galewind neighed triumphantly when his prospective rider was flung to the ground. It was practically a haughty laugh.
No doubt, Anran wasn't the only one getting a kick out of it, as the man picked himself up from the ground and dusted himself off. But not before trying to salvage what remained of his dignity by not limping out of the riding enclosure. Tempest danced around the pen and bucked his head haughtily as the other men around him roared in laughter. Finally, after a few minutes, two brave stable hands climbed over the fence and proceeded to water the white stallion down and brush him and give him his feed.
"That's good stock you've got there, Lord Haidan," one of the men beside him said, extending his arm and clasping wrists. Anran shook with him for a moment before spreading his lips in a wide smile of his own. "You always bring some of the finest bred horses I've seen in decades! And that Tempest, Hakeshna's Eyes, he's quite a firebrand! I don't think you'll ever sell him though."
"Thank you very much, Master Ballu," Anran said, smiling despite the closing statement. Master Ballu was right in many ways. Tempest would likely never sell. Most men rich enough to buy a horse with such a temper were likely to turn away after the first throw. Still... "Maybe I won't ever sell him. But he sure knows how to draw a crowd. And bask in it as well!" Anran had the good humor to laugh as he watched the horse playfully flick his tail at one of the stablehands and the boy gave a yelp.
"He certainly does, indeed!' Ballu laughed. "I hope you'll sell us some of your mares for the Colosseum soon. We can always use good show horses and, a few brood mares certainly wouldn't hurt."
"I can think of a few that would like the spotlight. And.." he cut his eyes to Tempest, "would actually let people ride them. As always, it is a pleasure to speak with you again. We should make time for a drink soon. I will see the passel of horseflesh sent at my earliest convenience!"
Ballu waved him off vanished into the sea of passersby within the vast market area. Despite the smile he once had, it gradually faded as Anran thought over the offer he'd just made to Ballu, one of the Coordinators for the Colosseum, in charge of coming up with special events or certain matches that would bring a good crowd to the arena. Anran sold a few pieces of good horseflesh to him over the years, and he always guaranteed that the animals were treated well and decently. It was strange, Anran mused, how most of the beasts collected for the arena, were ofttimes treated better than the men and women who fought to the death for their entertainment.
But slaves were lesser even than beasts and it was an lesson Anran had learned very early on in the ten years he had been in the Colosseum. Funny, how that time seemed to be so long ago, though it couldn't have been more than three years – four at the most. But he'd been lucky. His master had granted him freedom, for he'd been young then. He did not want to recall the years that led up to his enslavement...though the truth was it that though he'd been born a slave, he'd only had to shed the blood of his friends, his comrades, for a smaller amount of time than most. He had been trained as a house servant, but after a falling out with his mistress over a minor disagreement, she sold him to the nearest gladiatorial slaver that could get their hands on him.
He trained half of his life in weapons of killing, learning to move, to minimize distractions, and while he wasn't the best fighter, he knew how to survive. And that was what made him an asset. But there was a kindness to his master that he couldn't have known, who treated the young Anran like a son, teaching him to read, to write, to ride, and to him to live, not simply to survive. When he died, and decreed him free, his own man, to do whatever he wished with his life and his fortune, it had been the single greatest act of selflessness he was sure to ever know.
And a luxury most of the fighters in the Colosseum would only dream of.
"Fushar!" one of the stable hands suddenly called out from behind him. Anran abruptly about-faced and stared in wide-eyed astonishment as Tempest fought against his handlers and suddenly kicked the young Fushar with his legs, breaking off the planking sides of the enclosure. At the first opportunity of freedom, Tempest bolted from the pen and darted straight for the unsuspecting crowd.
"Come back here you bloody beast!" Anran heard someone with his voice cry out. He didn't even realize he'd sprung into action before he already did. The horse was coming in his direction and when he was close enough, he leapt forward, grabbing onto Tempest's mane as he dragged alongside the animal. The beast was moving too fast for Anran to swing himself up as he normally would and the horse went ploughing through the crowd at top speed.
Men cried out, and a few of them were ready. They swung out ropes, twirling them high over their heads and launched the lassos, hoping to tangle it around Tempest's neck and at least slow the powerful animal to a standstill.
Something slipped and he lost his grip and he suddenly fell, tumbling into the mud. The wind was clearly knocked out of Anran, and he saw white for several moments before he felt his lungs fill with air and he opened his eyes, and felt along his arms and legs and body to see that he was still alive and in relatively good shape despite the throw. At least the mud had cushioned his fall...or what he thought was mud.
"Ew! Kaadir poo-doo," the voices of small children resounded across from him.
