This greeting is property of kmaysing.

The afternoon sun is hot, a bit unusual for this time of year in the highlands of Scotland. Its golden beams beat down upon my back, making me sweat, and to be honest, add to my annoyance. I wipe my brow with the back of my sleeve and refocus on the task at hand. I grumble and let out a short, exasperated sigh as I run my hand through my tangled mess of copper curly hair and tighten my hold on the lead with the other hand. I narrow my eyes and set my jaw in stubborn determination.

For a solid week, I have been working with this moody stallion, trying my best to tame him for his owner. He's a beautiful animal with a jet-black glossy coat, a long mane and tail of the same ebony color, and keen intelligent eyes. Ah, but he's full of hellfire and vinegar and is stubborn as the day is long.

The horse jerks back on the rope, tossing his majestic head and snorting in stubborn defiance. I sharply pull back on the rope and mumble, "Nách mór an diabhal thú," cursing the moody beast in Gaelic. "Ye be right down foul and stubborn," I grumble in a deep voice. "But I be a bit more experienced in the stubborn department." I smile and loosen the lead a bit to let the horse run circles around the paddock.

I stand in the center of the paddock and watch the animal's fluid movements—the way his muscles move in unison under his shiny hide, how he tosses his head, and kicks his legs as he neighs and whinnies. "Showing off now, are ye?" I ask the stallion, amused by his dramatic antics. The horse snorts in response and makes another lap around the paddock.

I turn with the beast, following his graceful movements, keeping my experienced eyes upon him. However, a slight movement at the wooden fence line catches my attention, and I see you standing there watching me and the horse. I call over to you before I shift my gaze from you back to the horse. "Oi! You there, by the fence... what do ye need?"