Mike twisted his head around to admire his massive, glossy black body. He felt incredible, like he could kick down walls and run forever. He also felt balanced and somehow right - being a centaur had been odd, wrong somehow. Or at least, that was how his mind saw it now. Mike puzzled over that. Did he think he was better as a horse because he was one now?
"You are a magnificent animal, my friend." The Wizard patted him on the neck. "Drop your head down so I can provide you with the training you need. It will provide you with the knowledge and skills critical for a warhorse, and make you a formidable opponent to any monster or beast." You will know what it is to truly be a warhorse."
Although he was a little nervous, Mike did as instructed and dropped his massive head low. He had gone this far - if the Wizard was going to trick him, it was already too late to resist. The boy Wizard grinned and rubbed his chin. "I can see the fear in your eyes. Trust me. You will be happier and more fulfilled than you have ever been before in your life." Then he placed his hands on either side of Mike's skull and chanted some strange words.
Sucking at a mare's teat. Running across open fields. Stumbling under the weight of his first rider. Learning to stop, gallop, and turn on command. Memories. That was what the spell was doing - creating memories. Flailing out with his forehooves, spinning and kicking with his hind hooves. Biting, tearing at enemies with his powerful jaws. Using his weight to crush, his strength to pound, his speed to run. Training. Years of it, as solid and real as his last year of high school. Only this was more intense, and far more memorable. He could not describe a participle a month after he had learned it in class, but every aspect of his training as a warhorse was ingrained to an almost instinctive level. By the time the Wizard ceased his spell and dropped his hands, Mike did not just simply know what a warhorse did, he was a warhorse to his core.
Yes! Amazement filled Mike, a revelation of self. This was what he had been born to be, not that pale, weak human teenager or the awkward, ugly centaur. This was why he had kept finding ways to become a horse. There was no more doubt, no self-consciousness about wanting to be an animal, and certainly no regrets. The Shire warhorse raised his head proudly, confidently, knowing he could take on anything. The scents of the stable came to his nostrils, hay, grain, sweat, urine, humans, and of course, his own rich masculine stallion identity. The smell was so much more revealing than the odd sound he could no longer say.
"Excellent. All that is left is the bonding. Aaron, come in here."
The Warhorse flicked his ears as the young warrior came in to the stall. A human fighter, similar in purpose to the Shire, but weak and small. Did he really want to be partnered with this human? Bonded. He could serve the party as he was, without a rider. He did not need Aaron. Except...
There was a hole in his memories. The years of training had no focus. Where there should have been a human or centaur teaching him, drilling him, the Warhorse had only a hazy gray blankness. He knew these were all created memories, that none of this was real, but also understood that he needed Aaron if he was to complete the transition. It was the final step, the one that would truly make the Warhorse into a creature of this world, the last link in a chain that bound him to a new life on four hooves.
As before, the Wizard asked him to lower his head, but this time it was Aaron who placed his hands on either side of the Warhorse's skull. The Warhorse had to decide - would he allow the bonding to continue, or break free and return to his party as an independent Warhorse?