I called my beloved horse, Rifael.
Houyhnhnm. (Horse neigh)
Rifael, who was grazing in the grass, raised his face as I waited for him to notice me, and he lifted his forefoot and neighed.
In response to my call, he came galloping towards me – or at least I saw it that way. In reality, he brushed me off and I had to drag him over.
Ah, excuse me, I “rode” him over. Details.
But his name is true. Dad named him. Seems he liked catchy names.
“… It’d be better if he was a little smarter….”
Originally, the Larmee type were bread for their strength and power that could carry a load calmly with ease. It would be nice to say that he was an essential item in this country.
Perhaps it’s human to say so, but even if this horse was reincarnated, it would still only have the wisdom of a horse in its past life.
I connected the wagon to Rifael while thinking about such things.
Sitting in the coachman’s seat, I grab the reins.
You shouldn’t need a translation to understand that one. Yes, I know. It is a nori. It is a joke. I promise.
I beat down Rifael’s ass with a whip and we departed.
… ah. I want a friend who’d understand my stories and jokes…