#luaidhe

Rider Challenge #1: Your Capall Uisce

@thescorpioracesfestival

I have passed her a dozen times and never noticed her in the dark stables or from afar. I was always so determined not to set my eye on another capall uisce ever again that I wouldn’t spare any of them more than a glance when I passed them.

She is pure beauty and I am doomed already.

The horse stares at me from across the small yard. Two ropes are dangling from her neck, another one drags through the sand behind her hind leg as she takes an uncertain step. Someone has tied another, thinner rope around her neck, hung with flowers and bells and red tassels. It doesn’t seem to help much.

Her coat is a deep grey and I could swear to see a hint of blue shimmer in it as the sun caresses her. Her mane is darker, tangled like seagrass, her eyes black and deep and wild and hungry. She has the finest head I have ever seen in a capall uisce.

I’ve sworn I wouldn’t ride in the races with any other horse than Adamante ever again. Her eyes say I’m going to break that promise.

“Do something, Martijn!” Rob, one of the stable hands, hisses next to me and the mare shies at his voice.

The fence around us is more than two metres of solid main land oak and metal but in her eyes I can see that she could take it. If she really tried to jump it right now, she’d be gone. If we were a little further into October, if the sea would call just a little louder for her…

“If I do, will you let me race her, Gavin?” I shouldn’t ask that question. I don’t want to race her. Or any capall, for that matter.

“She just broke her last rider’s leg,” Gavin warns me.

“So you need a new rider for her,” I shrug and take a step towards the grey mare. She could have charged at us already or jumped the fence to get to the cliffs but she’s still standing there, ears pricked, the wild hunger glinting in her eyes. I hope it’s not hunger for me. I know better than to hope that.

I step over the bloodied sand in the middle of the yard.

“It’s not even a month till the races. You won’t have much time to get used to her.”

“Other riders buy their horse just days before training starts,” I counter. The black eyes are staring at me, unyielding, waiting for me to make a move.

“You’re not other riders.”

But I am. Deep in my chest there is the same desire that makes so many sign up for their own death. The sea calls to me as I get tangled in the uisce’s magic. She whispers sweet, sweet tales of drowning in my ear and I listen and I believe.