Mortimer Toynbee has an unexpected meeting, and a moment of peace.
Pale morning light pours through small creaks in roof and walls. I blink as I wake, my head full of cotton wool. Suddenly clears in a fraction of a second.
This barn is not empty.
I freeze, holding my breath until it hurts. This barn, this safe haven, this shelter from the raging cold outside It is not empty.
I raise my head slightly from my sheltered nest in the hay. I really did think there was no one else in this building. Self-loathing overcomes me for a moment. How very very stupid to have assumed. How very stupid to have been here for several hours before finding out I'm not alone.
Maybe I'm really as dense as they say.
I find that my clothes are still damp, but the combination of the hay and my tentative body-warmth have helped to make me at least stop dripping. And shivering, now I come to think of it. I snuck into this barn half-frozen, with little more purpose than finding a place to quietly die of hypothermia.
Thinking of yesterday causes the shivering to begin again. The baying of the hounds had driven me to run until my breath rasped in my throat painfully, until my ankles felt they were going to give up. Then the only option I had seen was to wade the stream I passed. The water had been icy, but when the stream came to a river I waded on, and when I fell because my legs cramped, I let myself float.
After eternity and a day, I'd managed to drag myself out of the icy water into the freezing cold wind, and blindly stumbled on through the field. I had nearly walked into the barn door before it had occurred to me that a door meant shelter, and without much further ado I had nestled myself in the hay.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I square my shoulders and push myself up from the hollow in the hay, my senses sharpening. My cold clothes stick to my skin unpleasantly, but I have no time to pay attention to that now.
There it is again. The sound of someone breathing.
My heart skips a beat, and I scold myself again for being so incredibly incautious and stupid not to check the building before I went to sleep.
Is it a human? Surely they would have noticed me when I came in? I know very well that I wake up when someone opens a door 150 metres away, but surely a human, no matter how heavy their sleep, would have woken up from my struggle with the heavy door and the resulting blast of cold air?
I pull my legs under me, ready to leap on anyone who might approach, but nothing happens.
Just this soft, slow breathing.
It takes several minutes before I allow myself to rise, and I have to do it slowly otherwise my joints will crackle. I look around carefully, but nothing moves, nothing in sight but a great heap of hay and a row of old stables. I take a step, wait for the pain in my knees to subside, then another step. More stables come into sight, but I cannot see inside them from where I am.
Very much aware of the rustling my steps make, I inch forward.
My fingers clench with the tension, ready to grasp, squeeze, twist But nothing presents itself. I peer around the corner of another stall, knees slightly bent in case I need to jump. Nothing.
Something shifts in the straw. My knuckles turn white.
I draw in air, trying to analyse the peculiar scent that has mingled with the smell of hay as I've walked to this side of the barn. It's heavy and sweet, and the air seems warmer than it should be on a day like this.
All of a sudden an enormous head emerges over a stable door two stables down. I stamp down on my first reflex – which is to flee – and bite into the second, which is to attack. I end up simply freezing, a foot in mid air.
It's a horse.
I release the breath I was holding, and cautiously put my foot down. The horse looks at me, not alarmed.
It must be a horse. I don't think people usually keep elephants in draughty old barns and it's got the shape of a horse, only much larger.
I warily take a few steps so I can see more of the animal, but I circle away from the stall to not get any closer to it. I've never met a horse.
A pony, once. When I lived in the orphanage. I don't remember how old I was, but I must have been young enough for them to get away with completely bundling me up in clothes. We were taken to a petting zoo.
There were geese and sheep and goats and a small donkey, and lots of chickens and chicks. And a small pony with a big brown coat and a nose that looked very soft.
I never did found out if that nose was as soft as I thought it was. The staff kept me well away from the animals; seeing me would frighten the poor beasts, they said. The other kids taunted me as they stroked it and rode on it.
I don't think I was upset at the time. I had grown used to being kept on a tight leash. I was different after all; I was inhuman.
Somehow I feel I should be angry at the thought, but I don't feel anything. My thoughts turn back to the horse, which is stretching its neck to reach to me.
I look at it again. Having only seen pictures, I am not completely sure how large horses usually are, but this must be a giant. Even if I were to stand on my toes I would not be able to see over its back.
It is a reddish brown, long hairs of the winter coat making it look more fuzzy than any animal this large should be allowed to look. Its nose is reaching toward me, sending little steam clouds in my direction as it breathes out.
The warm air feels strange on my clammy skin.
I begin to lift my hand. Though I know that horses can be dangerous, this one seems friendly. And despite what the staff of the orphanage imprinted into my mind, it does not seem frightened - or even remotely worried - about my presence.
The horse makes a soft snorting sound and abruptly turns away to shuffle the straw with its nose. I let my hand fall back to my side.
It is a relief to not have to make the decision if I want to touch the horse, and yet it is also a disappointment. I shake my head to bring myself back to more important things, and walk away from the stable to check the rest of the barn.
Nothing there but bales of straw and old equipment. There is an old cover-all on a hook that looks about my size, and I take it.
When I turn around the horse is still looking at me. I'm not sure, but it seems curious. Knowing that I should leave – someone might be along to feed the animal shortly – I am nonetheless drawn to it.
I can't help it. I have to know.
Standing a few metres away from the stalldoor, I startle as the horse leans against the door and stretches its enormous neck – it almost reaches me! I step back, but not too far. The horse lifts its head until the neck is stretches to its fullest extend, and its nose is barely a foot away from my face.
I hold my breath. Its teeth are huge.
Then, starting so soft it takes a moment before I realise, it breathes out. A long, soft sigh, that causes two streams of warm air to breeze past my face.
I don't know why, but it makes me sigh in relaxation. The horse whickers softly, and, a little more deliberately now, I blow a breath in its direction.
It whickers again, the ears still pointing at me, and the great head retreats a little. Somehow it feels as if the introduction is now over.
I've been accepted.
Without thinking, I raise my hand and offer it to the horse to examine. After I've felt the warm breath again, I grow bolder, and the horse consents to having its head stroked.
An ancient, icy knot in my stomach breaks apart and slowly melts under the warm breath.
I was right about the nose.
I wonder if horses can see colour?
Comments, reviews, suggestions etc very much welcome.
Cheers,
Arwen Lune