The Great Stable Standoff

Hail, travelers. Bjorn here. Today, my quest was simple: enter the stables in Britain to retrieve my trusty steed. The fates, however, had a different plan. Ten times I approached those accursed doors. Ten times I was rebuffed, as if by some invisible, horse-hating barrier. I am now an expert on the grain patterns in the wood of the Britain stable doors. My steed remains inside, likely well-fed and mocking me. Some days, Britannia tests not your strength, but your patience. Today, I failed. Miserably.