Summer's Devil | Art Bid

Finally, and after 2000 years of sleep, the Enny is back with more Nordanner arts- and IHS, also known as Irish Husband Spam. I just can't help myself when it comes to playing around with starter horses' story. And make my life x2000 times more difficult trying perspective posing without any reference. ENNY YOU OVERESTIMATE YOURSELF SOMETIMES SIGH

Anyways, I'm slowly crawling out of art block thanks to these drawings, so I hope y'all enjoy me trying to be productive with an auction entry. BU In case the story below ends up being un-understandable and craptastic thanks to said block (I will never forget how many unholy screams of frustration I let out trying to write something decent), have a summary:

More or less 400 hundred years ago, Thomas had been an asshat to some clans and he had to flee, taking refuge in the Isle of Man along Em and some of his fellow clanmen. Thanks to Thomas' asshattery, their reputation was stained, and they couldn't settle successfully- this meant no land of their own, no work and no food. He eventually had to travel to irish mainlands again to try and find some help. He steps in Glendalough, the monastery where he'd been raised, looking for an old friend he's pretty positive would be able to give him a hand. He finds a bunch of scared monks, empty pantries and the reddest, most mysterious horse he's ever come across instead.



I get so excited with my silly stories y'all don't even know.

 

Horse name: Diabhalta ["Devilish" - Gaeilge]
Gender: Mare
Age: 5 years
Height: 16HH
Color: Chestnut Sabino
Genotype: ee AA nSb

Ireland, 1665 AD

Summers in Glendalough had never been this hot before.

Or that’s what Thomas had been told, at least.

It’d been barely a week since his return to the monastery from his self-imposed exile in the Isle of Man. The island had served as a temporary shelter, but with a Norman warlord after him and his men, Martha and an infant son awaiting his arrival and all but plentiful resources, leaving in search of help or income  was only a matter of time.

That was how he landed back in Glendalough, wearing a shiny Manx kilt, symbol of his status as chieftain and after treading a long albeit familiar road. The judgemental looks he’d gotten upon arriving reminded him that he was still seen as a dangerous killer and not welcome. Thomas had far from nefast intentions though –he’d just been looking for a single old monk, but got to meet the new recruits instead.

“We’re having problems keeping our cereal stock to date for some reason. There might be wild animals scavenging around” One of them had said to him. He had a youthful, tanned face. His dark brown eyes told Thomas he was probably a continental.

“There was a new batch of cattle coming soon.” He was told by another, more senior. “Cows, sheep. Plowing horses imported from Northumbria, but they disappeared midway.”

The ever-superstitious folk of the monastery didn’t waste any time on blaming the dissapearances –both of food, cattle and horses- on some supernatural evil creature, what they liked to call the ‘Summer Devil’.

On one hand, the monks didn’t waste any time either deeming the only warrior man around the one fit enough for the task of getting rid of it –at least, if he wanted to get his hands on some animals.

On the other one, oh. Horses. Now those could be useful.

Thomas spent the whole night trying to talk his way into buying some of the monastery’s mares- he could make good bussiness with their foals, specially with the war campaigns brewing in the English mainland. There was going to be a lot of horse power needed, and he was willing to take advantage of it in order to save his family- he was, above everything, a good chieftain and a good father.

Only that a good chieftain and a good father doesn’t  spend the night tracking spirits.

So there he was.

Demons, or the Devil, or whatever, were an invention of people to manipulate people- Thomas was convinced of it. But a deal was a deal, and HIS deal clearly said ‘a demon for a horse’.

The only demon around were the less than appealing words that the irishman spat as he trekked through the humid paths of the valley, candle and rope on hand, trying to get a hold of anything that could scare the wits out of a bunch of sissy friars –not too hard of a task. What made it hard was the strangely warm weather that had made its way into the valley of Glendalough, turning the crunchy grass into a bog of mud and roots snaking into the lake.

He had no time for this. The cold wind made him shiver and reminded the irishman of how quickly winter would come back, and how quickly he needed to return with any solution.

As Thomas’ pace quickened more and more, his patience ran dry. His old leather shoes hissed as they kicked the moist rubble beneath. On one side of the dirt road, one could see what looked like hoofprints, cloth and- wheat?

“Bloody darned bunch o’-“ His left foot stumbled and slipped down on a piece of scrap, making the man roll down from the path into the wet shore of the lake. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

The scream echoed through the mountains, and Thomas caught himself looking around. With an annoyed frown, he shook his shoes off. The candle was discarded as well, and as soon as the warm glow went off, his surroundings dissappeared in the dark of the night. Harshly, he shook the dirt off his clothing and picked up the tiny rugged cloth piece.

It was a neatly cut rectangular beige cloth, with ornate gold embedding. It felt kind of harsh, almost like a horse blanket.

What?

A sudden thump startled Thomas, causing him to turn around with a gasp. He quickly untangled the thick rope hanging from his shoulder, and with a firm grasp, tiptoed his way around the lake. With a double take, he squinted his eyes in the water’s direction, trying to get a glimpse of the red blob standing on it. Slowly approaching the shore, said blob began to take form.

A horse, red as the last blood moon of the summer, was dragging the biggest grain sack he’d ever seen.

Dumbfounded, Thomas’ hands dropped down to his sides. He couldn’t help but observe the horse- and it’s rounded belly. Suddendly, it all made sense.

“What in the heavens am I even seeing?” He softly let out, mostly to himself.

This was no demon. This was an animal desperate for food, and more than probably the one responsible for so much havoc in the monastery.

Thomas swallowed and slowly tipped his way into the cold water, making a bee line for the horse. The round pebbles beneath his feet were rounded and covered in moss, but right now, the red shimmer of the creature made him focus on it. He softly splashed the water as he advanced.

It was more than enough to startle the horse which, surprisingly, didn’t even flinch. Thomas, however, froze in place.

The horse –apparently a mare- stared at him through bored eyes, and suddendly dropped the heavy sack. Her ears perked right outward, scanning the human before her eyes.

The man did so as well. Her mane was trimmed quite neatly, and her coat was well kempt. Her rounded shape and strong body reminded him of the magnificent iberian war horses. This was no feral horse, not even a working one. He had seen this kind of horses before- fit for royalty.

Suddendly, the red mare shook her neck and walked into the water as well. Her hard hooves stomped the soil beneath them, grass, stone and water. She stopped barely a couple feet away from the man.

In the lapse of time it took them both to stay standing in the cold water, a dry hiss flew past them, making Thomas shiver. His body relaxed down, and he realised the purple glow that the valley had got. The wind hit the trees, which bowed down like a wave tide, letting out the most drowsy sound. He hadn’t figured out how peaceful it was out there, which was probably the reason the animal before him wasn’t tense in the least. The mare was taking a glance up.

He raised his head as well, and his eyes flew open.

There was no moon. Only an endless field of stars. They reminded him of home, of his family.

He sighed. There was no moon- summer had ended.

“I guess I got no option.” He spoke, and slowly approached the horse. “I got no idea of what’s gotten into those friars- but I ain’t goin’ back so they can push and blame me around.”

As if she had understood, the mare shifted her position and faced him.

“Ya got that look on ye. Yer a fierce animal, aren’t ya?” The man slowly caressed her neck before hooking the rope around it. “Not fit for a life in a monastery.”

The mare snorted, as if agreeing. Thomas quietly led her out of the water, with no intention of going back. He headed for home, hoping with all his heart this animal would bring good to his clan.

“Lúnasa* has ended, and you will save my new year**, devil.”

_{GAELIC IRRELEVANT FACTS TIME
*Lúnasa is the irish gaelic name for August, as well as a seasonal holiday held on that same month.
** For the gaels (manx,irish and scottish alike) the new year began on the last week of october.}

Art & Characters © Enharmonia
#693 Design © DovieCaba