Chap­ter 32: A Horse Fair begins with Black Beau­ty stand­ing among a sea of hors­es, each with a dif­fer­ent sto­ry writ­ten across their bod­ies. Some are sleek and well-fed, trot­ting proud­ly for atten­tion, while oth­ers show signs of exhaus­tion and neglect—coats dull, ribs vis­i­ble, hooves cracked. The fair­ground is crowd­ed and noisy, filled with the sounds of hag­gling voic­es and the rest­less shuf­fling of hooves on packed dirt. Beau­ty watch­es it all, his thoughts tinged with wor­ry. Though still strong, he knows how quick­ly cir­cum­stances can change. Around him, han­dlers boast, deal­ers bluff, and buy­ers prod and exam­ine as though hors­es were fur­ni­ture. The sharp words and rough touch­es remind him how eas­i­ly dig­ni­ty can be stripped away. In this space, trust must be earned, not expect­ed. Each moment feels like a gam­ble, one that might lead to comfort—or suf­fer­ing.

Among the crowd, one man catch­es Beauty’s atten­tion. He doesn’t shout or han­dle the hors­es rough­ly. Instead, his move­ments are calm, and he speaks gen­tly, even to ani­mals not yet his. He inspects Beau­ty with­out pulling or slap­ping, study­ing his legs and eyes with a thought­ful frown. This man, dressed plain­ly but with neat­ness, seems to under­stand the lan­guage of hors­es. Beau­ty sens­es some­thing rare—genuine kind­ness. The man offers twen­ty-three pounds, a fair price con­sid­er­ing Beauty’s age and minor blem­ish­es, but the sell­er insists on more. A short stand­off fol­lows, with the man walk­ing away, leav­ing a knot of uncer­tain­ty behind. For a moment, Beau­ty fears he might end up in the hands of some­one less gen­tle, anoth­er rough trad­er already eye­ing him with a harsh grip. The noise and bar­gain­ing buzz around him like a storm, and Beau­ty stands qui­et­ly, hop­ing.

Lat­er, the kind man returns with a final offer—twenty-four pounds and ten shillings. The deal is accept­ed, and with a firm but friend­ly lead, Beau­ty is walked away from the fair. The path ahead still holds unknowns, but already, this tran­si­tion feels dif­fer­ent. The new own­er does not speak much, but his grip is steady and his pace con­sid­er­ate. The streets soon change from mud­dy fields to the clam­or of London’s edge, where build­ings rise and wheels clat­ter over stone. Beau­ty, though cau­tious, fol­lows with trust. The man seems to under­stand how to guide with­out force, and that alone makes the walk eas­i­er. Even­tu­al­ly, they arrive at a mod­est home, qui­et com­pared to the fair but filled with life. A woman opens the door with a wel­com­ing smile, and two chil­dren peek curi­ous­ly from behind her skirts.

As Beau­ty is led into the sta­ble, his sens­es take in the scent of clean straw and pol­ished wood. It’s not lux­u­ri­ous, but it is clear­ly a place of care. The tack is neat­ly hung, buck­ets full, and there’s a warmth in the air that speaks of dai­ly atten­tion. His new com­pan­ion, a stur­dy old­er horse named Cap­tain, nods in greet­ing with the calm con­fi­dence of one who has seen much. There are no loud voic­es or rushed move­ments here—just qui­et pur­pose and sim­ple order. The fam­i­ly steps out to admire Beau­ty, and the lit­tle girl brings him a car­rot, gen­tly offered from a small hand. That small act of kind­ness makes all the dif­fer­ence. The fear and strain of the fair begin to lift, replaced by cau­tious hope. This home may not be grand, but it is ground­ed in gen­tle­ness.

Over the next few days, Beau­ty is giv­en time to adjust. He is groomed patient­ly and walked through the streets to get used to the city’s sounds. His new mas­ter speaks to him often, a habit that soothes even when the words aren’t under­stood. Cap­tain shows him the routes, steady and sure, while Beau­ty mir­rors the pace, grate­ful for the guid­ance. It becomes clear that this man not only knows hors­es but respects them. He val­ues steadi­ness over speed, bal­ance over pres­sure. The fares he takes are greet­ed polite­ly, and though the work is tir­ing, it nev­er feels cru­el. Beau­ty begins to feel like a part­ner again, not a prod­uct. In this cab­man’s care, he redis­cov­ers the rhythm of dig­ni­ty, step by step through London’s wind­ing roads.

This chap­ter cap­tures more than just a sale—it reflects the turn­ing point between hard­ship and heal­ing. The fair rep­re­sents the cold real­i­ty of trade, where emo­tion is rarely fac­tored into cost. Yet with­in that chaos, one per­son­’s decen­cy changes every­thing. The man who pur­chas­es Beau­ty doesn’t just buy a horse—he restores a sense of worth. And in doing so, he reaf­firms the deep­er truth of Sewell’s sto­ry: that kind­ness, even when ordi­nary, can res­cue those left unseen in the noise of com­merce. As Beau­ty set­tles into this new life, the past remains with him, but so does a sense of hope—hope that, this time, care might last.