So it has been ordained, so shall it be.
The relationship between Man and Steed is as old as time itself, horses, great elephants, tales of bears and tigers, great beasts that walked the earth under the command of Man. Rider and Mount becoming as one, hardened in battle, tested in strife.
Some would scoff, making mockery of their bound, jeering at what they assumed was some sort of physical lust, a desire of the flesh for the body of something not of Man.
Fools!
They could never understand, Rider and Mount are more than lovers, a man riding a horse is not simply called that, he is called HORSEMAN, a fusion of beings, a unison of soul and purpose, together on the road to burning destiny!
Even now, they exist, those who bound with cold steel and chrome rather than heaving, lathered sides and hot breath. A rumbling engine as their true companion. To dismiss the bond as lesser would be foolhardy, Man and Machine are no less a bond than Man and Beast, no less a pair.
But wait, you could say, cold steel does not foster a hearty soul, what is inert can never move as a being of thought and soul.
Fools I say again! The rumbling engine is the same as a growling beast, the machine lusts for life, clings to it, gasoline is blood, steel is bone, but the light of a hot blooded beast rages within.
A warm sponge rubs gently against a cooling frame, suds of cleansing minerals chasing the detritus of the road to oblivion.
A ritual of sorts, a reminder of the bond they share. Man and Steed.
It is not something that words can truly describe, only the touch of soul to soul can elicit the feeling.
To him, she is more beautiful than any woman, it does not bring him bodily pleasure to look upon her, but a sort of rapture, a happiness of the soul.
A feeling of being whole.
Her name was Catarina, and she was his, as he was hers.
Chrome finish is reapplied with the touch of an artist, he did not need skill beyond measure to know her, only the bond of their souls guides him to the correct path.
She would complain at times, yes, roar in protest and grumble in distaste, but she would be there for him. Roaring into battle, tooth and blood and tears dotting her victorious body like a Goddess of War. Mighty wheels still stained brown with the spoils of battle.
And they are cleansed, as they always have been, as they always will be.
Until they are cast away from one another, smote apart by a snorting, roaring beast, driven by incompetence or malice, he did not know which.
But should he see the foul automobile again, he would shatter it into dozens of pieces in her name.
But until that day, and further past, he would seek her.
He would find his Catarina again, in this strange, fantastical world.
And he would feel whole once more.
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Originally Posted by Airen
