It was a medium sized cabin, medium sized just like him. The way that he cared for himself was also evident in the way he cared for his house. He kept his cabin clean and liked everything organized, but he didn’t have anything frivolous. The man was content with his life, he had nothing to complain about, and nothing he longed for. Which seemed to be the opposite of Malachi McFadden, the man’s only neighbor in the valley.

Malachi never stopped adding things to his valley compound. Extensions to the house and a large fence were the latest additions. Not only was Malachi never satisfied with the condition of his house, but he was a very jealous man also. Not one day passed when he didn’t long for something someone else had or hate someone for having better things than he. So one day, when driving past the modest cabin of the solitary man, he spotted the man’s prize-winning steed. Never had he seen a horse like that, not in all the farms of California.

He decided to first inquire about the horse, see if he could purchase it from the man. He started a polite conversation, starting out with small talk and then casually mentioning the horse. He knew that this would get the man started on the horse. Naming all of the competitions that the horse had won, why the horse had won them. Why did the man have to be so damn proud of that godforsaken horse? There had to be a way to get the man to sell him the horse, or maybe he could steal the horse. O the mischievous thoughts that envy cause, but he had to do what he needed to do to get that horse. He did not know yet, that in his pursuits of the horse, he would cause the destruction of the compound that he very painstakingly built for himself.

The man had been washing dishes when he heard a knock on his door. He slowly placed the dishes down and grabbed the shotgun mounted above the sink. He gently placed his feet on the old wooden floor, being careful of causing any squeaks or cracking noises. The reason for his precaution was that he never knew who was knocking on his door out in the Californian countryside. He flipped the light switch on for the foyer and looked through the peephole. To his surprise, he saw his only neighbor in the valley, Malachi McFadden. Malachi rarely ever came down from his estate to see him. And when he did, it was usually to try and buy something of his.

Why is he taking so long to answer his door? Malachi had been waiting outside this man’s door for longer than his short patience cared to let him. Finally the door creaked open and there stood the owner of the fine steed. How could such a short and just all around mediocre man own such a beautiful beast? It should be the other way around, the powerful steed as owner and the dumb beast of a man as animal.