Summer Night A fantasy story. By Sharpfang'2000 You can copy this story freely as long as no contents are changed (including page header in html version) If you like it, write me! Sharpfang Foreword A few days ago I looked at a picture in my old book with fairy tales. That was my favourite fairy tale, and the picture showed a beautiful blue winged horse. I saw it maybe thousandth time but I liked it as much as when I saw it for the first time, and I felt as special about it as the first time. But that day I noticed that the horse in the picture was a mare. That was when I understood, that it was that tale and that picture that got me that special feeling for horses and especially for mares. I understood, that story woke a zoophile in me, long before I knew what sex is. Now I know, that special feeling is craving for love, with deep erotic background. And it's hope. This story is based on that old fairy tale that changed me and my whole life. It's about my wish and my hope, and about the way I write my stories. Summer Night ============ I opened the window. It was a warm summer night. The sky shone with countless stars, the air lingered with thin veil of mist that scattered the light and covered everything with eerie blue gleam. Dark shapes of bushes and sunflowers in my garden contrasted with far livid forest. I breathed deeper, rested my hands on the parapet and looked outside. There was no moon, but the stars were so bright that I could see the trunks of forest trees under heavy, dark cap of leaves. A bat crossed the air noiselessly. I turned away from the window and walked to the kitchen, where I took a big azure bowl and fillied it with bluberries. I added sour cream and several spoons of sugar, then mixed it all. I tried some and it tasted so great that I'd eat it all, but I needed it. From the corner I picked a big empty bucket of blue plastic, from the shelf - my panpipes, took the bowl in my other hand and headed outside. I stood on the short stairs leading from my door to the yard. The air was warm and I felt some sweat under my nightgown. I put my stuff down on the stairs and removed the cloth. When I had it around my head for a moment, I felt a light wind, some minor sound behind me, and when I turned back to the stairs, I noticed a mouthful of bluberries was missing. I grinned widely and dipped my finger in that place and before licking it I took a deep sniff on it, finding the equine scent. I always wondered how she did such stuff without me noticing. I gathered my stuff and walked to the well to fill the bucket. As I was turning the old crank slowly, I caught a glimpse of blue by the bowl again, but it still wasn't our time yet. I carried the bowl and the bucket to the middle of a meadow where forget-me-nots were growing, left them there and sat by a nearby hungarian plum tree. I raised the panpipes to my mouth, began playing and watched as a group of blue flowers resolved into shape of a horse. I was playing a calm, lulling song and watched her eating the bluberries and drinking from the bucket. When she finished, I changed the tune, played more lively, with joy and passion. She was dancing to the song, silvery blue in the starlight, on the livid background of the forest. Always so lonely and sad, in such nights she was finding happiness, being cheerful and playful. I knew that I couldn't touch her, that we couldn't stay close ever, but I was finding her teasing me, getting within my reach, sneaking up to me, and plunging away whenever I tried to reach her, just off my range. Sometimes she was standing so close, that my minor move would let me touch her, but she stood still in such a way, that I saw her only after I walked away from reach, when I was noticing that what I was taking for sand, was her fur, what I thought being bush leaves, were feathers of her wings, that the ray of moonlight against the dark tree bark was in fact her tail. Then she would run away playfully, showing herself to me from a safe distance. I ended the tune, stood up and walked a few steps in her direction. I placed the pipes by my mouth and began playing my new tune, one I started composing this morning, one I got stuck with. It started beautifully, it was sad and lonely like the blue horse, but there was one place where I didn't know how to continue. All my tries from there seemed to be cliche, pathetic, boring, they just didn't match the rest of the song. I was playing the song slowly and she began walking to me. With each step she was closer, her eyes bound to mine, but I was feeling, that when I play the first wrong note, she will turn and run away from me. I was cursing myself for picking this song, my mind raced through multiple possible continuations, trying to find a good solution, the phrase that wouldn't take her away from me, that would make her continue and touch my face with her mouth. But the critical moment was coming so quickly! She was so close that I was feeling her breath and saw the trully blue fur. Her mouth was almost touching my panpipes when I played the last note I knew... And then I heard it. She blew three quick notes on my pipes and skipped away, but it was enough for me to catch up. Another three notes, similar to hers came from under my mouth, and so the melody flowed in my mind and from my panflute, completely different from any of my previous ideas, thoroughly changing the mood and expression of my composition, but matching the first part perfectly and extending to a new dimension. The song was cheerful and playful, just as her right then. She was galooping or flying, diving from the sky or stomping loudly on the grass, running away and coming closer. Then, a note of longing sounded in my song again. Solitude and fear, unhappy love that will never be fulfilled. When I played my last note, she was gone. But then I felt I got the very end of the song wrong. I went back a few phrases and played it again, and this time I played it the right way. In the morning I will go pick a bowlful of bluberries again. If the next night is as blue as this one, she will come again. I played the last notes of the song, the notes of hope. For her name is the Blue Horse of Hope. . . . . . By Sharpfang.