Her Only Love

All night she'd waited for the sound of hooves, medieval cobblestone, the smell of horses, and those welcome squeaks. He was her only love. When morning woke there was a solitary rider, whipping his tired horse and bleeding onto reins his face was chalk and stern. Draped right behind him, tied to the saddle, there in all his youthful beauty he had come home, at last. She took his hand to lead him to the quarters, where, with skill and urgency the stablemaster cleaned and bandaged all his wounds. And when he woke again he was the master, ruler of the castle, she had asked him. The horse had taken, overnight a rapid turn toward demise, all tender loving care did not restore his strength, he died. Was buried with his master well past the moat that day.