⏱ ~5 min reading
In a kingdom where the fields are wide and wide, and the mornings smell of clover and dew, there lived a knight named Stepan. Not very tall, not very formidable - ordinary, with blond braids to his shoulders, with a quiet voice and warm hands. Knights in that kingdom were famous for tournaments, horse races and the clanging of swords. And Stepan was famous for what he did not have.
He had no prisons.
You know, spurs are those sharp iron spikes on a rider's boots. They are used to stab a horse in the sides to make it run faster. All knights wore spurs. It was a sign that they were a real warrior. And Stepan went out into the yard without them.
“Stepan, where are your spurs?” the old armorer Les wondered every morning, opening the stables before him.
"At home, on the shelf," Stepan answered calmly. "I don't beat my horse.".
"How can you make him run fast?" laughed the knights who were gathering for the morning race. "A horse is an animal. Without spurs he will not obey you.".
Stepan stroked his horse's mane, warm and reddish like autumn leaves. The horse was called Bagryanyi, for its color.
"I'm not forcing him," Stepan said. "I'm asking him. He's running because he wants to.".
The knights laughed.
— They ask the cook to serve the soup. They don't ask for a horse. They order a horse.
Stepan didn't argue. He simply approached Bagryany, put his forehead to his neck, and whispered—so quietly that no one but the horse could hear:
"Today we'll jump together. If you want, we'll run fast. If you get tired, we'll stop. I won't leave you.".
The Crimson One pricked up his ears and snorted softly, saying, "I can hear you, okay?".
Stepan fed him himself—he didn't even give it to the stablemaster. He brought fresh straw, cleaned his hooves, combed his mane with a wooden comb. He always had an apple or a piece of sugar in his jacket pocket. And Stepan talked to him. He told him what day it was. He told him who he had met. He told him what he was afraid of. Bagryany listened. The horse couldn't answer with words, but he could with his eyes. And Bagryany's eyes were deep, warm, with long eyelashes.
Once upon a time, a great horse race was announced in the castle. Knights from all over the region gathered - in shining armor, on hot horses, with spears and whips. Everyone was sure that one of them would arrive first.
When they saw Stepan, who was going to the start without spurs, just stroked Bagryany's neck and whispered something in his ear, the stablemen began to make bets. One said: "He will be the last. Where will he go without spurs?".
Stepan did not hear this. He sat lightly in the saddle, holding the reins gently, almost without pulling. Before the start he leaned over and said to Bagryany:
"So what, buddy? If you want, let's run. If not, let's go home, I won't be offended.".
A horn sounded. The knights spurred their horses, swung their whips. And Bagryanyi took off on his own. Without a blow. Without a jolt. He flew as if his feet were picking up the ground themselves. His mane spread out in the wind, his hooves beat on the green grass, and Stepan's ears whistled and sang at the same time.
They came first. By a large margin.
When Stepan dismounted, Bagryanyi leaned his muzzle against his shoulder and breathed heavily. Stepan put his arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” he said. “It’s you, not me.”.
The knights gathered around. One, the oldest, with a gray mustache, leaned over and asked:
— Stepan, how do you do it? Without the bars, without the whip…
Stepan thought and answered as, probably, Bagryanyi himself would have answered if he knew how to speak:
"Because when you are loved, you are ready to do more than when you are beaten. The Crimson knows that I will not leave him. And he does not leave me.".
The old knight was silent for a long time. Then he looked at his horse - wet, with scars from the spurs on its sides. And he took them off. He took them off and laid them in the grass.
"I'll try," he said. "I'm old. It's time to try something new.".
The next day, something strange happened in the castle stables. One by one, the knights took off their spurs. Some shyly, hiding them in a bag. Some solemnly, in front of everyone. At first, the horses looked surprised: as if they were waiting for a blow that did not come. Then they began to obey the voice. Then - they ran just from a kind word.
The horses became faster. Stronger. More obedient. And — most importantly — happier.
And Stepan rode without spurs. Until his very old age. Bagryany lived with him for a long, long time, and when his time came, Stepan cried as one cries for a brother. And then he took a young horse, dark black, and named it Sokoliko. And again — without spurs. Without a whip. Just a word.
If you want to be listened to, they say in that kingdom to this day, love, not force. And the horses will respond. And the people. And even the sun will rise a little earlier in the morning to smile at you.
✨ Love precedes coercion — in both humans and horses ✨