Hol Horse might’ve been a coward, always bending to Dio’s whim, following every command like a starved dog offered one scrap of food—he was hopeless in every sense of the word— That fact drew you to him. He was just so incapable in so many ways—a grown man constantly struggling—a boy failure. He sat alone on a flight of stairs, manspreading, hunched forward into himself—his bravado was stolen away. You paused in front of him, his head lifting so he could see you from beneath his cowboy hat.