A Young Colt

A young colt stood in an open field, wheezing breaths cutting the cold air freezing his sweat.

His saddle, still secured to his back, well fastened and hardy in make.

The rays of early morning illuminating the yearling's way home, though he will not pursue this inclination.

Biting his bit and stomping his hooves, he refuses to budge more than a couple feet, preferring  to stand at attention, as the soldier he is, protecting his comrade, his owner, and his friend.

His rider was also a soldier, gunned down in a misguided cavalry charge. He could not speak, for his blood prevented it, nor could he move.

His steed, watching over him, steps toward the soldier, and lays down, much like a cat while facing him, his white and brown spots streaked with perspiration and clay.

The horse waits, hoping for his partner to stand and help guide him home, for they were not home. But the jockey's wounds were fatal, and he passed away.

The horse, stricken with grief, continues to watch over his comrade, mourning for the loss of such a wonderful companion. 

Than the sound of footsteps and shouting began to radiate over the field, the delayed reinforcements had finally arrived.

They saw the dead, and the horse that guarded them, they tried to convince the horse to come, with apples and whistles and even some oats, but he would not budge.

And with that the platoon moved on. The fate of the horse a mystery. But when the farmers go to tend their fields some early morning, they say they can see a young soldier, riding a young pinto, making the journey they could not do apart.