The magical journey of a countryside boy

The next morning, William woke up well after the sun had fully risen. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he looked around the small room and realized he was entirely alone; John had already gone somewhere. However, a fresh wooden bucket filled with steaming warm water sat in the center of the floor. After using the water to quickly wipe his face, the boy bolted down the cold hallway to the washroom, then scrambled straight down the creaking wooden stairs to find the blacksmith.

​He scanned the dim common room and spotted John sitting by himself at a corner table, lazily nursing his breakfast. The blacksmith caught sight of him stepping off the bottom stair and waved a calloused hand, gesturing for the boy to come over.

​As the child sat down, John pushed the earthenware bowl and a loaf of bread across the scarred wood. But the sight of that same gray, watery everlasting stew and the rock-hard bread instantly killed the boy’s small appetite.

​He simply shook his head, pushing the bowl back.

​John shrugged, completely unbothered, and went right back to chewing his own crust. “Suit yourself, kid. But I’ve got business to tend to today, which means you’ve got two choices: you can either stay locked in that room until nightfall, or you can follow me around like a little lamb.” John pushed his empty bowl aside, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious. “Because I definitely don’t want to find out how your aunt would react if I somehow went and lost you in the middle of this city.”

​For the boy, it wasn’t a choice at all; he had already made up his mind before John even finished the sentence.

​“I will join you,” he replied quickly, leaning over the table. “But where will we be going?”

​“First, to a store owner who usually buys my tools,” John said, checking his coin pouch. “Then we’ll head down to a warehouse by the docks to buy a new stock of pig iron and coal. Lastly, we hit a carpenter’s yard to buy up any waste wood or cheap pieces I can use for making tool handles.”

​The boy nodded excitedly, his small heart bouncing at the prospect of seeing the majority of the grand city in a single day. John stood up and walked toward the back door, and he hurried after him, straining to keep pace with the giant’s stride.

​They walked out the rear exit and into the damp stables. He noticed right away that the mules looked far better than they had the previous evening, their coats brushed and their bellies full. While John walked around the wooden cart to check the wheel pins and cargo straps, William’s attention wandered toward the very back of the dark stable. Standing in the furthest stall was a breathtakingly beautiful white horse.

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​Without even realizing his feet were moving, the boy drifted away from John’s cart, drawn toward the magnificent beast.

​“Beautiful, ain’t she, lad?”

​He jumped, startled out of his daze by the gruff voice. He turned to find a rather short, middle-aged man leaning against a wooden post, thoughtfully scratching at a thick, unkempt beard.

​“She?” the boy stammered, his eyes darting back to the horse. “Is it yours?”

​“Yes, she,” the man grunted with a proud nod. “Her name is Betty, and don’t you go calling her anything else or she’ll get cross with you. But you didn’t answer my question, boy.”

​He blinked, scrambling to remember what the man had asked. “Yes, she is beautiful. The most beautiful horse I have ever seen.”

​The short man let out a boisterous, echoing laugh. “Of course she is! You don’t find white mares these days, especially not around a place like this.” He stepped into the stall, gently stroking the mare’s pale nose. Betty let out a soft, quiet whimper, leaning her massive head into his palm as if agreeing with every word. “A merchant yesterday offered me fifteen silver for her. Fifteen silvers! Can you believe the absolute nerve of the bastard, thinking I’d just sell my Betty?”

​The man grunted, his expression souring as he looked around the dim barn. “To be honest, she wouldn’t be tied up in a dump like this standing next to dirty mules if we’d managed to reach the city gates a bit earlier last night. The better inns were already locked up, and the rest didn’t have a proper stall left for her. So, we had to settle for this place.”

​The child took a small, hesitant step closer to Betty. The white mare lowered her head, her deep eyes locking onto his small face for a long moment before she nudged her wet nose directly into his open palm.

​The man raised his eyebrows, visibly surprised. “Well, look at that. She doesn’t usually care for strangers, kid. You should count your lucky stars while you’re at it.”

​“Kid! We gotta go!”

​John’s booming voice echoed through the dim barn, breaking the quiet moment. The boy turned around to find the blacksmith already sitting up in the driver’s box of the wagon, waiting right by the large stable doors.

​“I have to leave,” he said, quickly thanking the man.

​The owner smiled faintly, giving a small wave. “Go ahead. Be safe, kid.”

​He turned on his heel and bolted across the straw-covered dirt toward the waiting cart, scrambling straight up onto the high front bench next to the blacksmith. John cracked the reins, steering the mules out into the narrow alleyway.

​The blacksmith glanced back over his shoulder as they cleared the courtyard. “Who was that guy?”

​“Just a parent praising his child,” the child replied, settling himself firmly on the wooden seat.

​John caught one last glimpse of the white coat through the stable doors and gave a low grunt. “Well, that’s a beautiful horse.”

​William crossed his arms, a proud little smirk tugging at his lips. “Mare. She’s a mare named Betty.”