The Stallion - A Short Story

In the end, he didn’t want the stallion to go the same way he had. The stooping, weathered man had been around the yard for so long that even Niall, Hazelhurst’s manager and resident stalwart of the stableyard, had no idea who he actually was or where he’d come from. Perhaps he’d always been there, had sprouted from the cracks in the yard’s foundations like the ivy that had been planted generations before but now couldn’t be displaced. He was known as Uncle Reg but no one knew his family, if indeed he had any left at all. His seventies had long since left him and he had come to an understanding with his eighties that had been borne of a long and easy familiarity. He simply came and went and they had all – secretaries, stable lads, jockeys, and trainers alike – come to accept him as an anomaly; a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a Barbour jacket.

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