bell thief

Far away, at the tail-end of autumn in Hungary, wild herds of Teddy Cobs were being rounded up for yet another year’s winter. Adorned with chiming bells and muddy coats, the scruffy little things were ‘misbehaving’ as usual, their personal disagreements carrying over to be problems for the catchriders as they attempted to maintain order, and one in particular was causing issues – a little bay stallion, darting through the mass of ponies like a herding dog, ducking, weaving, and forcing his way out of line, all to chase a rogue jingle bell.

He dashed out of the fray, bouncing along with his golden prize to follow its trajectory, having been kicked by a stray hoof no doubt. Had the bell been his own or another pony’s was less than relevant as he hastened after it, the pursuer quickly being pursued by the herdsmen determined to ruin his fun. In the fray, the stallion snatched the bell’s bright pink ribbon, and sprinted off with his prize.

Of course, the herdsmen gave chase, and urged their horses on as fast as their little feet would carry them. The stallion was faster, though, and he skidded through the mud like a racecar driver, deftly avoiding any semblance of control the herders attempted to enact upon him. Somehow, in their complacence with handling the usually docile ponies – and in absence of any forethought, surely – they had managed to forget to bring any ropes for wrangling ornery beasts like this one.

The little bay eventually made a break for it at the front of the herd, even further captors and their attempts to get him back in line making little progress as he shook his bell, the incessant ringing almost a ‘come get me, you can’t!’ taunt towards the riders. His casual canter away from them did not last long, though, as they came for him once more, like the absolute sticks-in-the-mud that humans always were. They brought food, sure, or gave him good ear scratches, but who had time for listening? Not him!

What he did have time for was running. It was his favorite, of course, his most common tactic for gleaning entertainment from his friends being the tried-and-true ‘bite ‘em until they try to bite you back’ maneuver. His skills were honed from long days being bothersome, or an annoyance, or at the very least mildly rude, a continual nuisance to every single horse he was around. The mares especially never had patience for it, and naturally were the least fun to be an ass to – how are you supposed to be chased if they never actually bother to try?

Years of training had led up to this, his magnum opus, his peak performance. Keeping his very own bell, his prized possession. The world was determined to disallow him his treasure, but he was not going to let that happen.

One rider approached on his right, another his left. The little stallion forged ahead, more sure-footed than their ponies on the slick ground, traction letting him gain speed until another adversary arrived from in front. He scrambled sideways, jingling all the while, chimes of the bell in time with his frantic hoofbeats as he just barely evaded capture. He was the slipperiest little pony, by god, and he would maintain that title even if it cost him everything.

Unfortunately, everything was lost very quickly. The head rider came from around the bushes, too close to avoid, and the impact hit the stallion like a freight train, chest knocking into hindquarters while he tried to regain his footing – but the bell was taken from him, the surprise that caught him so off guard causing him to let go of his ultimate catch. Almost in slow motion, the golden bell flew into the air, thrown directly towards the contingent of enemies, whose horses stepped on it as if it were nothing but more mud. They stomped it into the ground, likely inadvertently, but it was gone nonetheless. A tragic loss in these trying times, now buried in the ground – but he did not have time to mourn. No, he had to continue, as he got his hooves back under him and made straight for the herd again.

A beeline, even, careening towards the other horses as they were about to be ushered through the gate. He did not stop for anything, as he got ahead of the riders who stole his greatest achievement from him. Their mounts tried their hardest, but it was in vain – the stallion bowled through the less-rambunctious horses and scattered them into disarray.

He was among them, now, just another body finally in the midst of his brethren. Had the riders gotten what they wanted? Did they know what they had taken from him, plunged into the muck to be rediscovered by an archaeologist in a thousand years’ time? No, they were uncaring wardens, circling the herd like sharks to get them all back in line. Of course they did not care for his plight, his suffering, his best friend taken from him in his time of need.

The stallion complied to their whims, the mass of ponies together again as his far less challenging companions pooled around him. Companions… with even more bells. As soon as he was thrown into despair, he leaped back out, and took to harassing the others for their beautiful, shiny adornments. Good luck to those prospective buyers, hoping for the bells to remain in the ponies’ manes until spring. Maybe next year.