In the stable the horses were whinnying, low and urgent. Around the side of the barn, a few chickens had escaped the small hen house and ran in circles, their panicked clucking loud in the heavy, still air.

There was an encroaching gray moving over the farm, changing the blue of day into something darker, meaner. Clouds formed, bloated with the promise of a hard and cold rain. An unexpected breeze stirred, then whipped into slicing wind in a flash. It tore through the huge maple trees that stood as sentinels on either side of the lawn that hugged the old farmhouse. It shook the panes of glass in the windows.

Above the building fury of swirling leaves and spiraling dust, the horses screamed their fright at the apparent storm, though they hadn’t yet broken through their stalls. But it was only a matter of time. The equine species normally hated such inclement weather.

It seemed the noise level, of wind and dust and now, crackling thunder, reached a crescendo along with the cries of horse and screech of hen, just as a man strode from the shadows of the forest that ringed the grassed borders of the farm. He moved with confidence toward the stable as if drawn by the scent of fear and the wild beating hooves. Hens scattered before his boots, not so much afraid of being trampled under those thick soles but more to get away from what frightened them, even more than the storm.

The man was a predator. Even the slow-witted birds could sense it.

Closer to the stalls where the horses reared and plunged; closer to the smell of panic and utter fear. Closer to the blood. The man’s nostrils flared at the scent, sweet and vital and so very tempting.

Seventeen hands high, these horses. And full of life. The man’s eyes half closed, thinking about what awaited him.

Stepping into the partially-open door of the stable, he needed no pause while his vision adjusted to the gloom. His green eyes were now open, wide open, as he turned his attention toward the line of neat stalls. Eight of them, and all occupied by fine horseflesh. He raked back a shock of deep brown hair, tucked thick strands of it behind his well-shaped ears, as he walked slowly toward the first horse. He was very tall, and so the split gate of the stall came only to his lower chest. He could easily view the magnificent animal within, backed into a corner, the whites of its frightened eyes showing as it pawed the air with dangerous hooves, and neighed in warning and in fear.

The man shed the thick jacket that lay across his shoulders. It was warm in the stable regardless of how chilled the day had become. He’d need no additional protection here.

Broad-shouldered and heavy in the chest, the man stood on long, muscled legs. His face was still in shadow but those green eyes glowed as he took in the way the horse shifted in the spacious stall. It was brave and it would defend itself as well as it could, but in the end the man would be victorious. In the end the man would bend the animal to his will, would pit his few hundred pounds against a creature that outweighed him by many hundred more. And the man would win.

His teeth flashed white and sharp in the gloomy stable. They lengthened as he continued to stare hungrily at the stallion cowering from him. His eyes took on a brighter glow, now tinged with fire. His big hands came up from his sides, the long fingers curled, reaching out toward the terrified horse. And although the animal bared its own yellowed teeth, shook its head and sent its midnight black mane flying, still it tried to cram itself further into the corner of the stall.

It would fight for survival, and it would lose.

The man growled, low in his throat. Where there had been strong incisors, now there were glistening, razor-sharp fangs. He took a step closer, then another. And another. The growl in his throat took on a sharper note, a deeper threat.

And with a sudden burst of courage the horse surged forward, caught one of the man’s wrists with a ferocious bite. The big teeth clamped and bit down, while the petrified animal’s wild whinnies caused the rest of the stable’s occupants to squeal and scream in empathy and self-worry. The man gritted his own teeth and let the horse bite into his wrist, before he turned his arm sharply and flung off a thousand pounds of horse as if the poor animal weighed no more than a feather. The stallion stumbled, caught itself and then huddled into the corner again, snuffling in distress.

"Well done. Well, well done." The words were a soft croon, the tone a comfort, and the contrast between croon and growl would have confused anyone who had witnessed the entire episode. With his uninjured hand the man pulled a snowy handkerchief from the back pocket of his pants and bound it over the bite mark, knowing the wound would heal quickly. He spoke softly to the horse and watched with satisfaction as it visibly calmed. With a tilt to its massive head the horse regarded the man, and then with a kind of approving bob, it shuffled forward and laid its nose on the shoulder of its tormentor.

A deep snort against his neck told the man he was forgiven. He brought a hand up and cradled the horse’s wide cheek, patting him affectionately. They stood thusly for a few minutes, both creatures of strength and both needing a bit of time to settle down.

Finally the man shifted, and leaned back until he could meet the intelligent gaze of the now-quiet horse. Green eyes looked into deep velvety brown, and the man gave a nod of satisfaction. "You were more ferocious this time, Goliath. I’m impressed. But you waited until I was too close, my friend. What if I had been the enemy? I taught you better than that." The man tapped against the well-muscled thigh closest to him; trailed his fingers down along the strong foreleg. "Next time, you kick! Hard. You won’t hurt me. Think of what could be standing here in front of you, threatening you. Wanting to kill you. And then you use those hooves. You take out the enemy; you slice off the head."

He let go of Goliath’s leg and made a vicious, slashing gesture along his own throat, while the horse watched him with those huge, brown eyes. "You understand me? You kill, Goliath. And you live." The man suddenly gripped the sides of the stallion’s ears and shook gently.

The horse regarded its master for a few seconds more, and seemed to nod its head in agreement. With a final pat, the man released the prized stallion, and stepped outside the stall to fill its feeding bin with a much-deserved meal of rich oats. While Goliath munched contentedly the man walked slowly down the length of his sable, patting here and stroking there until he’d greeted each magnificent horse.

When he came to the end his voice lowered into a soft and gentle cadence and he wrapped his arms around the neck of the lovely mare that stood, plump with pregnancy. She’d foal, and soon, his beautiful Ella. Mated to Goliath, the fiery mare would give him incredible offspring, this he already knew. The mother-to-be nuzzled at his shoulder as he patted and praised her, then she stood quietly as he ran his hands over her belly and focused inward, using his other senses to see. To judge.

"It won’t be long, my beauty. Soon. You’ll have a filly, if I’m not mistaken." With a final stroke over her velvety nose, the man exited Ella’s stall and went about filling each horses’ feeding trough with oats. He could well afford the extra bounty, even in these lean times, and his babies deserved to be pampered.

He stood at the front of the stable and watched over his horses as they fed, listening to shifting hooves on the hay, and smiled in contentment.