Roman and his horse Marquis are like twins: both are stubborn and prone to anger; both have to hit themselves over the head a hundred times until they make any progress; and both are incorrigible, wild beasts, out of place in their respective worlds. Roman has been in prison twelve years for a crippling assault on his wife; in and out of solitary confinement and unwilling to rehabilitate consciously, the horse training program is maybe his last opportunity as a normal life. But what is normal? To Roman, normal is living with the pain of what he has done, and a debilitating hostility that could explode into violence at any moment. Marquis (pronounced Marcus) is a brutish mustang, part of a cull to help control the wild population and to rear the captured for auction. Marquis is resistant from the very beginning, even leading a frustrated Roman to physically beat the horse in resentment, but a bond forms between the two on a mutual understanding and of course the unconditional love of this horse to his human (like Roman’s unconditional love to his estranged daughter). The ten week program is over and it’s the day of the auction. Roman and Marquis are last on the block, and Marquis is restless, unable to stay in formation for the national anthem and now uncontrollable on the reins. He throws Roman from the saddle and drags him, before head butting him, giving him an injury much like the one he gave his wife all those years ago. Are we able to reform if we are already congruent to our faults? Is the choice between physical and emotional freedom as cut and dry?

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