a wise man knows himself a fool.
Fennick could not help but feel that his first day in the Valley had not gone very well. He had interrupted a very private coup. However, things could have been worse. He wasn’t sure how, but things could always get worse. As it was, he was here now, and certainly couldn’t go back now.
Fennick may be a fool, but he was a constant fool.
The world at large may have called him every nasty name in the book, but fickle had never been one of them. He fully intended to cling to the last shred of dignity that he had. Besides, if he left now he would have to try again somewhere else. This would just keep happening again and again.
It took a true master of words to make introductions anything less than hideously awkward. And Fennick was not that. Besides, in the face of a mutiny, surely everyone’s attention would be on the mutineers, rather than the guy who crashed the party at just the wrong moment.
Yes, Fennick was feeling better by the minute.
He walked around his new home, stretching his legs, and trying to muster up a sense of belonging. He had heard stories about great stallions who changed the world with their wisdom, might and power.
If Fennick was going to do any world changing he would have to do it in a way that allowed him to keep his mouth shut. Nothing ever good came from his accursed, indiscreet mouth. A fighter then! The black stallion smiled to himself, pleased. He was a rather large son of a bitch. No matter that he had never raised a hoof in anger his whole life, he could learn.
He was terrible, but he wasn’t cowardly.
Besides, Fennick couldn’t even remember the last time he had stumbled, so not clumsy then. Yes, things were looking up. There was very little a solider could do to screw up a whole army, or at least, that’s what he was counting on.
Fennick
