In today's story, a simple object finds new meaning for our stallion, and a sense of peace. Read on, and don't forget to press play!

Many thanks to Khovar for inspiring this. I'm glad we met, hoss. :)

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Flare sighed softly as he drove up the much too curvy road, through town and up towards the lake. It had been only recently that he'd gone there, and found how beautiful it was. Having avoided it for the last 5 years or so, the shire horse regretted it, finding there was more than enough lakeside for all the tourists that frequented it to share. Pulling into one of the parking lots around the perimeter of the lake, he shut off the engine and got out of his car, stretching and letting the sun shine on his black and white muzzle.

"Hurrr....now to hurry up and do nothing." He chuckled to himself as he pocketed his keys and grabbed his lunch from the back seat, heading down to the shoreline. It'd been what seemed like ages since his encounter with the mirror that fateful day, and a lot of things had been on his mind of late. Large hoofprints were left in the horse's wake in the sand as he made his way up to the water, sitting down and pulling out an apple from his bag to eat.

"Hmmm?.... What's this?" Flare mused to himself as he looked down, seeing a single white feather on the beach, likely from one of the many birds around. "A feather...."

A switch turned on in the stallion's head, perhaps a lesser eureka moment for him. He couldn't remember exactly when he'd started attaching a couple of feathers to his mane... it had seemed right at the time, and the other folks around him certainly seemed to think they looked cool. But that was all... just looks. They were of the purest white, and they almost glinted in the sunlight on the beach, a stark contrast to his black mane. Of course, feathers were what seperated him from the other horse classes as a draft horse... but those were on his hands and hooves, not in his mane.

Pausing a moment, Flare reached back and took one of the feathers from his mane out to observe it. "White....the color of innocence, of purity. Perhaps then..." The shire turned his head to the sky, mind clearing. "I think I understand, now." He spoke to the winds, as if to say thank you for the brief enlightenment.

The stallion put the feather back in its place in his mane, and leaned back in the sand, continuing his lunch, feeling a bit lighter in spirit and smiling to himself the rest of the day....

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Feathering is what makes a draft horse, a draft horse. But today, a shire learns that -his- feathers make him unique as a shire- as himself. The thought that perhaps not all of his old ways were lost, and that instead had been added to was a gift most suprising.... from that day forward, the shire's feathers would remind him who he was, and the darkness retreated in the face of the stallions strengthened spirit.

Thank you for listening :)