The Big Dang Horse

Waking of Saturday, October 28, 2017 ~ 4

The Big Dang Horse

What had commandeered my attention after I set my controller down to charge....? Probably just the necessaries of life.

I came back and found that my lonely WiiU had gone to sleep.

Rats! I hadn’t found a proper saving point!

I restarted it all back up....

And I was on Satori Mountain.

The glowing beast wasn’t there. But the Korok I scared up was.... some consolation I suppose.

I went back to the Outskirt Stable. Probably. I let myself play too far and too long without logging—it gets hard to remember—

Suffice it to say that the sirens played havoc in my head again and I was off to the Great Plateau.

They say Hylians have long ears to hear the voices of the Gods.

I think when I play it’s more like hearing the call of attention deficit disorder.

Hm, or since he’s the avatar, and I’m the player, does that make me the God? He does so readily obey my every whim.... though I allow him the moments that must be lived one way and no other.

But let’s not get too meta just here.

The rain was pouring on the Stasis Shrine, but through the din I could still hear the mean, scruffling sounds of stal-creatures clawing up out of the earth and wishing to do me ill.

Not wanting to deal with them I ran toward the first empty edge I could see and jumped off into the cacophonous, blustering night.

I couldn’t see anything for the rain. Just dim looming shapes in the distance—mountains and hills. I had to consult my map to orient myself.

I wanted back in the Lynels’ Corridor.

I had unfinished business there.

Maybe it was that I had finally taken my horses out and showed them a little bit of love. Ah, my sweet babies.... I like to keep them locked up safe and sound—no telling what we might encounter out in the world. I didn’t want anything to happen to them.

Mm but they were still my proud and wonderful beasts, and I still liked to ride the roads with them.

And there had been that Mohawk mane style....

....

There was only one animal in the world for which that style would be so.... singularly and definitively befitting.

I touched down in the grasslands and jogged quickly toward the baobabs—there were wolves about and I didn’t need their attentions right now.

Presently the herd came into view. But.... they all looked the same. Five or six animals, milling around, cropping the grass.... All the same size.

Where was the big one?

Off to my right, right against the western mountain, one more dark horse pawed unconcernedly about. Fine place for it to stand when I was trying to compare them all.

I was sure it was the one from before—deep black body and a flaming orange mane and tail—but I wanted to make extra sure. I headed toward it, scooting round the baobabs in a fine game of ring-around-the-rosie until I was able to cow it back toward its fellows.

It joined up with them smoothly enough, droplets of water cleaving together. But was it all the way into their midst? The screen gave me no depth perception. The dark one still stood out big among the herd, and I was too far away to tell clearly—Was it larger for its size? Or for its nearness?

A littler horse walked in front of it.

Oh yeah, that was the big one.

And now that I had more stamina, I wanted to try it again.

And the slow chase was on.

I crouched down and crept carefully up behind it, freezing when it turned, pausing as long as I needed, closer and closer.... The other horses snorted and cantered away if they saw me, but my only concern was the Dark One.

Careful not to come up directly behind it—didn’t want a kick in the face, not from that one—I came close to its right flank.... and hopped on.

The thing jumped and bucked as I patted and soothed it frantically—my legs were spread wide over its huge barrel trunk—and my stamina began to burn away. I had much more of it this time, but it was going down fast.

But a quick look into my pockets showed me my stock of stamina dishes and elixirs—I used them all—and on the dregs of the very last one....

The Dark Horse stamped itself into a huff, and stood still beneath me.

I’d got it!

What a BEAST he was! Strong, and proud, and beautiful. I walked him back and forth, here and there, patting his neck, trotting him, reassuring him, soothing him and murmuring sweet sounds beneath the baobabs.

Hahhh! When I got this beauty back to a stable I’d—

And then I saw the problem.

The northern end of the Lynel’s Corridor is a box canyon. To the north is the towering wall of the Great Plateau. To the west, the red tiers of the Gerudo Highlands. To the east, the lush but steep mountain range bordering the lake.

The only way out of this place was southward, past not one but two Lynels, and a small battalion of mounted Bokoblins.

Touché, Nintendo. Touché.

There was no way I was attempting that on a steed that had anything less than complete trust in me. I couldn’t afford any refusals.

And so I continued trotting the Dark One back and forth, back and forth, round and round, again and again, now stopping, now starting, now sprinting, now stepping, always assuring him with pats to his neck, but not too many too fast, correcting him quickly, rewarding him fairly, and loving him gently.

He was a giant to be sure, but he seemed to have no energy for bursts of speed. His fastest gallop.... was his only gallop. This had me worried for getting past those Lynels, but.... after a long time of learning and bonding and with nothing else for it.... we turned our heads southward, and plunged down the grassland.

The Lynels were actually.... surprisingly easy to slip past! And they did not pursue us once we were out of their prowling grounds. And with a bit of weaving and dodging, the Bokoblins did not pose much of a threat either!

I pressed the Dark One onward down the road—we weren’t going to stop for anything until I could register this beast!

And we came at length to the Highland Stable, and it was once again that terrible conniption of deciding on a fitting name.

I knew whose horse this had to be descended from. It was obvious. The huge size, the soot-black coat, the mane like a raging fire. The proximity to Gerudo lands.

But to name him after anything having to do with such a figure.... it would be like a swear word. ._.

And yet.... how could I choose anything else? It would feel untrue. Unfaithful.

But truth and faithfulness notwithstanding, did such a figure even deserve any such honor?

This was a real pickle.

....

You know, perhaps his name had already gone down in history a thousand times as the darkest curse a man could utter.

But perhaps his surname.... the second name he took from the time he rode the black horse with the flaming mane.... perhaps that name was and had always been a purely Gerudo device.

And he wasn’t a Gerudo. Not really.

Maybe it was a good, proud name once. A strong Gerudo name.

Maybe it could be again.

I spent my twenty rupees at the stable counter, and I called my gargantuan steed....

Dragmire.