The White Horse.

a foolish boy and his white horse sat by the stream.

it was a clear spring afternoon in Chambord.
sumptuous aromas spun through the air,
the sun shone gracefully over the château grounds,
water trickled through the stream, fish and small amphibians visible beneath the glassy surface.

the boy popped open a large vial of crimson fruit juice and took a swig,
letting the cork fall into the stream below.
his horse grazed on the lush riparian grasses,
occasionally tilting it's head upward, as if monitoring the boy.

the boy turned his body to look back at Château Chambord,
spilling some juice in the process.
a wonderful stone structure with thick circular towers erupting from the keep,
a marvel of early French architecture.
the château's white walls contrasted perfectly the neat green lawns stretching the grounds.
the horse continued to graze.

the boy pouted and turned back to the river,
staring in disappointment at his now inadequate amount of juice.
he began to drink.
the horse's eye twitched.

before the boy knew what had hit him,
he was pushed heavily into the water.
his vial of juice fell from his grasp as he broke the pristine grace of the stream.
he spluttered multiple times and turned his head towards the shore.

the horse was staring at him, apparently bemused.

a small breeze blew the white hairs towards the chateau.
the boy stared in disbelief.
'...comment?..'
he shook his head before groaning lazily.
he picked his hand up from the rocky bed of the stream,
noticing blood trickling from a large cut in his palm.

he started to cry.
and crying turned to sobbing, sobbing turned to wailing, and wailing turned to screaming.
an uncontrollable flow of tears poured from his eyes.
he wrapped his hand in the fleece sweater he has been wearing.

the horse stared at the boy.
and then it got bored.
the horse turned back towards the château and trotted away.
watching as the horse departed,
the boy stifled his screams and sniffled slightly.

and then he followed his horse.