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The night was a bitter one, with a wind off the mountains that froze to the bone. It whistled round the old barn, shaking the odd assortment of palings that masqueraded as walls, dislodging the occasional fragment of ice to clatter to the hard earth below.

Inside, a chestnut shire colt, all arms and legs and feathering, stood just inside the door. He was wearing a tattered tunic and trousers, once fine but now threadbare, not to mention struggling to contain his growing frame. His feathering, the colour of corn like his mane, poked out from his sleeves and the legs of his trousers, coated a little in mud and dirt as they always seemed to be. The worn clothes provided little protection for the youth, something he was feeling keenly this evening.

He held his arms to his sides and shivered, but to show he was a normal colt, with all the playful instincts of his kind, he also could not resist opening his muzzle a little and puffing out a short breath to watch in awe as it turned instantly to fog right before his wondering eyes. The effect brought a smile to his eyes, even though his lips were too cold to stop quivering long enough to smile.

"Look, Brontius! I am a dragon!"

The colt had a companion, though they made an odd couple, and if anyone had looked from outside they may have wondered at the mix. A bear, middle aged and broad shouldered, strong but with his stance slightly bowed, stood working on a damaged plow at an anvil. His brown fur had an occasional shot of grey, and his eyes were grey too, the colour of the sea. A scar on his left cheek made a long white curling line, like a permanent frown.

The eyes on the bear were shuttered mostly, unlike the colt's, rarely giving away anything about the forces inside. He had learned the value of keeping his thoughts hidden long ago; but the colt managed to prick his sense of equanimity more than he would admit. Like now, for example.

Fat lot of good it did me in the end...

The interruption seemed to annoy him slightly, enough that the colt paused in his dragon impersonation for a moment, though he could tell the bear was also a little grateful of it. He could tell from the way his left eye went up more than the right and the set of his ears; the colt had been passing the time learning a new language, the way of irascible bear, and found it intriguing enough to occasionally prod his companion a little beyond the point of safety.

The bear tossed the hammer and the damaged farm implement to one side and eyed up his equine associate. He was about to crush the shire's playful impulses with a curt word but stopped, seeing the smile in the colt's eyes. Instead, his own eyes grew sad for a moment, before he regained his senses and snorted, the shutters carefully back in place.

"Indeed. Well then, perhaps you could grow some wings and get us out of here?"

The colt looked hurt, and Brontius felt a little pang of grief at the sight of the youngster's sadness, remembering another youngster far away who was altogether more serious than the shire colt. He remembered how much that had grieved him, even as he had swelled with pride all the same; it was part of what had made the irascible old warrior bear warm to the equine in spite of his situation. Memories and longings.

The colt was indeed made of different stuff from Pelias, he admitted. As much as he annoys me.

"Have I displeased you again, Brontius?"

"No, dammit, just... get out of the cold already. You are no dragon, young colt, and nor am I. So we need heat to survive this night, and I don't think you are going to find it there, play acting like you are."

The pout was back, he saw, but a twinkle as well. The colt knew when to be cute; and when to strike.

"If it is so cold, Brontius, can I sleep in your bed tonight? We will be ever so warm together, and you can tell me stories again, and..."

The bear held up one paw in resignation. He knew when he was beaten. Besides, he had come to treasure these nights of uncomplicated joy. They were, in some ways, all that stood between him and madness, while he tackled the deeper troubles of his current situation with the part of his brain that could process them without screaming into the cold winds and beating on the flagstones in anguish.

Anguish...

Brontius felt he had known anguish. After all, no soldier was ever far from it. He had learned, over the years, how to contain it, compartmentalise it, use it. How to feed off it and become the best at his profession, or so he thought. And then, they took it all away from him, and more besides, and he learned of a new well of grief that nothing could contain and which threatened to push him to the edge. Until he found the simple affection of a lost colt, as much a prisoner as he was.

The irony sometimes made him laugh. Not much else did, these days.

"Brontius?"

"Fine, Marek. Come into my room, and I will get the fire going."

The colt let a long whoop of joy out and gave him a hug that would have melted him surer than dragon fire, and then darted through the doorway into his meagre lodging before he had even taken a step. He had to shake his head in admiration at that. The lad was fast even for an equine.

When he got to the room the colt was already snuggled up under the bedclothes. He gave him a slight look of reproach, which only managed to draw a giggle from the youngster, and put his remaining supply of wood on the small fire. When it was well alight, he headed for the bed too, ignoring for now the flagon of wine that sat in reproachful state on his table.

Not tonight...

The colt always liked to be held in his arms, he knew. That he found as much comfort in the gesture as the colt was not something he could accept easily, and that made him grumpy. And more wine always made that worse. So instead, he settled in behind the equine, wrapping big arms around the slender form and resting his head on the lad's mane.

"When will my father come back, Brontius?"

He was not prepared for the question, and it left him momentarily lost for words. The colt turned bright eyes on him, seeking some fragment of solace.

"He will come back. I know he will."

"Marek, your father was..." the colt was angry now.

"Is! My father IS! You all say he is gone forever, but I know he isn't, I know it!"

Brontius knew the colt was close to tears. He had missed the signs during the day, the way the lad was strangely distant. Now, he realised he had another crisis on his paws.

"Marek, what has happened?"

"My cousin Focalin. He was saying... saying..."

"Lad, do not listen to that horse; he is a bad one, and no mistake."

"Then why am I here, Brontius?"

The bear had no easy answer. Oh he knew the truth, and it was not something that he thought the colt could take.

The reality was all too bleak. The colt's sire had become a nuisance, and but for his rank and service would have been expelled from the order of Knights and imprisoned. Instead, they did something worse, and sent him on a futile mission destined to get him killed. When he did not return, there were plenty of his kind who had shown nothing but satisfaction.

"I am a prisoner, aren't I, Brontius..."

The bear was startled by the flat tone, as much as the burst of revelation contained in those seven words, words he had been contemplating himself only just before. He had made the mistake of seeing the colt as a simple lad; and forgotten the depths his father had possessed, even at a similar age. He pulled the colt against his chest.

"No! Whatever made you..."

"I know it, Brontius. I am not as stupid as my cousin thinks. I know they think my father is dead. And they don't know what to do with me."

"Your uncle agreed to take you in."

"My uncle agreed to keep me out of the way here, in a cold barn in a corner of Darkmane keep, like the orphan son of a servant and not the son of a Knight of the Red."

Brontius felt the anger in the colt. He had not seen it before, but it was there, burning along with the pain and the fear. He had tried to keep it at bay, as he had tried to keep his own at bay. He had failed doubly, it seemed.

"You sound like my boy."

The colt turned to look at him afresh, with a question in his eyes, before the bear could catch himself. The words came tumbling out, grateful for the chance, and consequences be damned.

"Yes. I have a son. You remind me of him, a little."

"I didn't... I'm sorry, Brontius. What is he like? Is he like me?"

That won a chuckle from the bear.

"A little. His name is Pelias. He is older, and more hot-headed. But a little like you. He loved stories too, and he used to make any excuse to come into my bed and have me tell him stories until he fell asleep. You remind me of him, as much as an equine can remind me of my cub. You horses are a strange lot after all."

"The horse lords are the natural rulers of the land, endowed by the Gods with the divine right to rule the other races as loyal subjects of their High Kingship." The colt recited it in his light musical voice, as if reciting a poem, but the bear did not find the words musical.

The chuckle was replaced by a scowl.

"Is that what you believe, young horse?"

He hated the anger in those words, as much as the colt's sadness.

"No. You know I don't, Brontius..."

"Good. Your father would have hated hearing those words from your muzzle."

The colt gasped and dug his fingers into the bear's shoulders. "Did you know him?"

Brontius paused for long moments. He knew he was treading on more dangerous ground, and perhaps even putting the lad in danger, but he also knew he had to let it out somehow. It had been gnawing away at him all the time the colt had been here, and his soul was almost broken.

"Yes, Malek."

"How!"

"He was my friend, and my comrade. We fought together, he and I, through many battles. He saved my life, and I his, more times than I knew. He believed in the right of all the peoples of our land to their own destiny, even when the High King sought to enforce the Convention and made the other races swear their own subjection to their equine masters. And he paid for it."

The colt was quiet, he realised, shivering slightly in his arms He realised how much bitterness he had let loose, and sought to undo the damage as much as possible. But first a warning was needed.

"Malek, I need you to do something for me. Please, do not tell anyone what I have said. I am sworn to not tell you any of this."

"Fine. But first, you need to tell me why you are here."

He had to admit the colt had a right to know it all.

"I was a general, in the King's army. Commander of the Third Legion."

"And why are you here?"

"Because I refused to take the oath."

The colt was wide eyed now.

"One of the traitors! A rebel!"

"Yes, colt, if you like. I wanted my people, all people, to be free. And they could not let a famous commander get away with such defiance. Like your father, I was an embarrassment, but unlike him, they could not afford to send me away. Instead, they sent me here under the watchful protection of your uncle."

"You are a prisoner, like me, then?"

He ruffled the colt's mane. "I guess so, fellow prisoner. So what shall we do?"

"How about a story? And a happy one this time."

He felt the colt deserved a little tickling for that, and it seemed to snap him out of the mood for a moment. As Malek settled back into the bear's arms, though, he became serious again.

"I will become a knight one day, Brontius. My father was a senior Knight of the Red. I have the right to take his place, if they truly believe he is dead. One day, I will do it, and I will make them take you back., and your son if he wants it."

"I doubt Pelias will be grateful, colt. He hates equines with a passion; your people have stored up a great wellspring of hate in more than just my boy, but he blames you for our lot. And who is to say I want to be taken back, young colt?"

"I heard how you spoke about my father. You would want that back, if you could have it."

"Those days are gone, lad. Even if your father comes back."

"Do you miss him? Pelias, I mean."

"More than I can say. I hope he is safe. I left him with people who can look after him, but he is impetuous. He won't stay safe for long."

"Would you leave me, if you could, and go to him?"

The bear heard the fear, and the sorrow then. And he saw it in a pair of young equine eyes, tying to mask it and failing badly. The colt may see himself as the son of a knight, but he also knew the lost and frightened colt inside; he had seen it often enough in their time together. That he was the son of his friend only made it harder.

"Yes, Malek."

"I think I remember you now. A bear, with grey eyes and a warm hug who laughed a lot. You came to our house before my mother died, and played soldiers with me by the fire."

The bear held him tighter, remembering the time too. Before much had changed, and all of it for the worse. It hurt.

"Khaddar."

"It was my name given by your father. It means 'brother' in the language of our people. I do not know if you equines have one similar."

The colt turned away, nodding and wiping sudden tears. With awkward fingers, he reached for his mane, and untied a long ribbon of red silk bearing a shield and hoofprint in gold. He wrapped it round the bear's wrist, tying it off with a snap.

"My father's house symbol. It's all that I have if him. I want you to wear it, and remember him when you go. Maybe you will remember one horse who misses you, too."

The bear was rescued from melancholy by the feel of a colt snuggling against him, to try and steal as much warmth as possible, and a light voice raised in respectful supplication.

"Please, Brontius... can I have the one about the Dragon of the North again?"

The colt had fallen asleep before the hero of the tale reached the Pass of Kasterly... as he always did, thought the bear ruefully. But he kept the tale going on into the great wastes anyway, with the candles burning down and the fire burning low in the grate, while the equine snored gently in his arms, a picture of contentment. One callused hand ruffling a long black mane, and occasionally he held it to the light, looking at the ribbon adorning his wrist through misty eyes.

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