Orbin Descendants of Arion

   As dawn began to break over the mountains, Orbin and his uncle harnessed the horse to the wagon. The corn was already loaded, a task they had completed the previous night.

   “One of these days we should purchase a new horse for the wagon. Oscar here is getting pretty old,” suggested Orbin.

   Horst replied with just a grunt at first and then, “This old boy still has plenty of life in him.” Patting the horse on the side, he continued, “He’s like one of the family, besides I thought you liked him?”

   “Of course I do,” replied Orbin. “I meant another horse, not a replacement. Oscar has been with us for as long as I can remember. I just think he deserves to be free of chores such as plowing and pulling wagons. He should have a chance to run free in the fields before he gets too old to enjoy it.”

  Oscar was a large specimen of horse flesh. He stood six foot at the shoulder and was heavily boned like a soldier’s war horse. He was mottled white and gray, but his gray mane and tail always seemed to be disheveled and scruffy even after a brushing.

   Oscar and Orbin had shared many memorable times and there was no chance that Orbin would ever wish to see him go. He thought of him more like the family pet than a beast of burden.

   “Don’t worry, Oscar. I think I’ll keep you around.”

   Oscar turned his head and nudged his muzzle into Orbin almost knocking him over.

   “Hey! Was that necessary you big…” Orbin stopped mid-sentence. Oscar was peering straight into his eyes.  For a second the horse’s eyes were not their usual brown but a fiery red; his countenance seemed unusually strong and confident. Then it was gone. At the same time, Orbin felt something swell and stir inside his chest; but the feeling also disappeared. The experience left him a bit shaken at first, but he let it go concluding that it was caused by hunger, as he had not yet eaten breakfast. At that moment Orbin felt Horst’s hand on his shoulder.

   “Are you all right?” Horst’s expression seemed overly concerned for so small and brief an incident. Horst’s expression relaxed and he put both hands on Orbin’s shoulders. “Come, we should eat before we go. Your aunt has made breakfast for us.” Then he turned and walked into the house.

   Orbin turned and looked at Oscar checking to see if any straps were loose. After he was sure that all the straps were secure, he took another look before walking to the house. “That was very strange,” he thought shaking his head.

   The aroma of frying bacon was in the air. The table was adorned with other tasty treats. There was toasted nut bread (one of Orbin’s favorite foods), buttermilk biscuits, fresh milk, and butter, which he loved to pile onto the nut bread while it was still warm. Aunt Endi was just placing eggs on the table in front of his uncle.

   Aunt Endi was a well rounded woman. Her real name was Endiara, but since early childhood Orbin had heard his uncle call her Endi, so it was natural for him to do the same. She stood about five foot six inches tall with large breasts and an extremely well rounded bottom. She loved to cook. One thing they never lacked at the farm was a good meal. She had no children of her own and had always cared for Orbin as if he was her son. With Endi around, he never lacked for maternal care. She had always been there to mend a scraped knee or bandage a cut.

   Both she and Horst were in there late forties, and well preserved for their ages. Horst was about six foot tall, heavily built with large arms and shoulders. His skin was leathery from years of work in the fields. His brown hair and full beard both thick and full had a few streaks of gray. His stamina was unhurt by his years. He could work in the fields for hours and hardly break a sweat.

   Orbin often wondered about his uncle. He just did not fit the farmer profile. His confidence and the way he handled himself pointed to an authority figure or a high ranking soldier, not a farmer.

   Then there was the scar. It ran from his left chest down and across to just above his right hip. Horst claimed it was the result of a farming accident while plowing a field. Orbin ran the scenario in his head a dozen times, but it just did not make sense to him. He could not understand how a plow could possibly make that scar.

   A tattoo on Horst’s upper left arm also perplexed him. The tattoo was a shield showing a horse’s head above two crossed swords with the words “BROTHERS OF THE FLAME” in an arch over the top of the shield and the word “FOREVER” at the bottom. Horst usually wore something that draped down over his shoulder so as not to expose it, especially when traveling to town.

   Orbin had inquired in the past about both the scar and the tattoo. The last time, he had been sixteen. His uncle had pushed him rather abruptly up against a tree. “I told you. The scar was an accident and the tattoo is none of your business.” After releasing him from the tree, Horst had walked away, then turned with a somber expression and said, “Please Orbin, do not ask me about these things. They are not for you to know, at this time.”