Lora of Two Worlds

Outside a stable, several men. Inside, seven or eight stable hands and veterinarians clustered around a stall. The men outside quickly spotted the young lady running toward them, skirts hiked. The seated figure inside, startled, then overjoyed. He wanted to stand, to throw his arms around her. Roland stepped forward, puzzled: ”Sister? What are you doing here?” Seeing her brother’s expression, Lora glanced at Leon, then pulled Roland aside: ”What are you all doing here? What happened?” ”This morning, the stable staff reported that Leon’s horse had fractured a leg.  The vets are examining it. They can set the bone, but the horse won’t stop thrashing. Three times now, they set it, he breaks it loose. The vet says: a horse with a fractured leg, the only option is to put it down. End his suffering.” ”A fractured leg...” Lora’s heart sank. Horses were born to run. Even in the modern world, a broken leg meant euthanasia. ”His horse...” ”Boarded here since before the Yorvik trip. He hadn’t taken him home yet. Yesterday evening, the stable hand noticed him walking strangely. The vet found the fracture.” Roland told her everything: ”The horse means a lot to him. But, it’s not just that. Men who ride to war, a horse is a comrade. To put him down... none of us can stomach it.” Lora walked toward Leon. The cold in his eyes dissolved. Only warmth remained, the warmth he kept for her: ”You’re here?” ”I’m here.” She smiled, gentle. ”Let me go in. Maybe I can help.” Leon suddenly remembered, Lora had treated a horse before. Ice buckets. An odd method. Roland remembered too. He opened the stall gate and followed his sister in. The stall had been cleared. A large space. In the center, the horse, struggling to stand. From outside, light brown coat. Inside, eyes adjusting, Lora saw that his coat was actually golden-red. Mane, tail, and legs, deep chestnut. Even now, anxious and restless, his form was light, elegant. ”So beautiful! What’s his name?” Leon, following her in: ”Golden Lion. Despite the name, he loves to run more than anything. He was three months old when I was twelve. My father gave him to me. I grew up with him.” In his former life, his brother the King’s attempt to kill Voss had failed. Voss struck back. The Silver Shield slaughtered officials inside the palace walls, then poured out into Augustburg, killing indiscriminately. Leon had leapt onto Golden Lion and fled. The horse had dodged through blades and arrows, and still, Leon hadn’t escaped. His last conscious thought, Golden Lion’s desperate scream. Later, when Leon tried to understand why he’d been reborn, the most likely answer was that scream. That heart-rending cry. Golden Lion stood, lost. He saw Leon and tried to go to him, but was held back. He shifted, hoof to hoof. The Empire’s veterinary medicine had reached its peak, especially for horses.  This knowledge wouldn’t be surpassed until the modern era. The most complete system of equine needle work had survived only because it was transmitted overseas and preserved there. The Empire’s veterinary medicine had reached its peak, especially for horses. This knowledge wouldn’t be surpassed until the modern era. The most complete system of equine needle work had survived only because it was transmitted overseas and preserved there. So Lora didn’t touch the leg. She trusted these veterinarians more than herself. ”Golden Lion, why are you so naughty?” Lora looked into his eyes, walked slowly forward. She stroked his neck. He didn’t resist. ”Third time. Splinted, and he’s rubbed it off.” ”The more we treat him, the more agitated he gets. There’re cases of foals recovering from fractures, but an eight-year-old...” ”Stable master, that’s our conclusion. When the horse lies down and tries to rise, the broken leg takes weight and re-fractures. He won’t cooperate. We can’t treat this.” ”One leg broken, the other three will soon fail from the overload. Dragging this out is pointless.” ”Anything else, we could treat. Fractures, on the battlefield, one stroke. Done.” The vets debated. The stable master looked pained, trying to hush them: The horse’s owner is sitting right there. And his legs are crippled too. You keep saying ”broken leg, kill it.” How do you think he feels? Lora mused: What a gorgeous horse. A descendant of the famous Ferghana bloodlines. In the modern world, bred as a racehorse, he’d be worth millions. Wait, racehorse... Something sparked. Lora asked: ”How severe is the fracture?” ”Not severe. He hit something while running. Clean crack, bone not fully separated. Skin intact. If he could rest like a human, six months, the bone would knit.” An older vet, the one who’d tried to splint the leg three times. The horse’s hind legs were powerful. He wouldn’t let anyone bind them. ”If I can find a way to immobilize the leg, can you treat him?” ”That should work. But keeping a thousand-pound horse still, and letting the leg bear appropriate weight, only a god could do that.” A dark, thin vet blurted. Cavalrymen rode two or three horses each, not just for stamina, but because a horse’s leg structure made fractures common. Field vets treated mouth sores, nasal infections, colic, bone softening, diarrhea, parasites, skin diseases, almost never fractures. A fractured horse on the battlefield, one stroke. These imperial veterinary academy men couldn’t do it. How could a girl? ”Sister, tell me what you need. I’ll get it.” Roland was animated. His miraculous sister always surprised. ”I do need your help. Let’s go outside. Too many people, the horse is more anxious. Cousin, stay with him. I’ll go write up what I need.” A prescription? The vets were baffled. Was the girl going to anesthetize the horse? Only anesthesia could keep a horse still. That was a joke. It would only kill him faster.

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