Secrets of Night

Chapter 15

One of my favorite parts of working with horses is when you get to start them from the ground up- I helped with his birth and have worked with him his entire life. He's a breathtaking steel gray Thoroughbred who is greying out much faster than I hoped at a little less than 3 years old and standing at 15.3 hands. Pacing through the sawdust covering the aisle, I giddily slide up to his stall and unlatch it, throwing the stall door open with a hard shove from the compacted shavings that have become lodged in the wheels. Grinning to myself as I breathe out a "hey there pretty boy" as I greet him, rubbing his velvet soft nose once he turns to face me. His soft brown eyes search mine before he nickers and nuzzles my side happily, pleased to see me and searching for the carrot he knows I normally have hidden in my back pocket.

"No, boy, I'm sorry, I don't have anything for you right now, but I promise I'll bring you an extra treat tomorrow, ok? We're just going to go for a nice ride, just the two of us, so let's have a nice calm ride, no spooking at any branches today please. I'm not really in the mood for any shenanigans and I don't feel like going flying into any trees."

Pushing his nose aside as I shake my head, concluding my little pep talk before reaching around his stall door and retrieving his halter. Sliding the thickly padded halter over his ears, I fasten the throat latch and lead him out into the aisle, approaching the work tack room where luckily it appears to be rather abandoned. Figuring most kids are just about done grooming their horses and will be coming out of their stalls at any minute, I quickly throw a Western bridle on him before leading him back to his stall and replace his halter on its hook. Picking up the pace, we stride out of the barn and over to the black wooden rails that used to contain Shadow. Holding the reins in one hand and reaching behind me to hold the fence with the other, I climb up backwards onto the fence so I am still facing Hurricane.

Lifting the hand with the reins, I click my tongue and wiggle my fingers, his cue to pick me up. Licking his lips as he processes what I'm asking him to do, Hurricane carefully lines himself up with the fence, halting directly in front of me. Sliding the reins over his head and wrapping the hand holding the reins in his mane, slowly raising my leg and slide over onto his back. More than pleased with how he performed, I smile widely and praise him, rubbing his neck and telling him what a good boy he is. He heaves a sigh, his nostrils fluttering from the air as he chews on the bit, enjoying the praise and reinforcing the positive behavior he had performed. No longer holding the fence, I shorten my reins until I have even pressure on both reins and click my tongue, encouraging him to walk on. Allowing my hips to move with his stride and encouraging him to pick up the pace, we trot out onto the forest trail, relishing in the connection I feel to him.

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After about twenty minutes into the ride of good solid trotting, we make our way over to a small clearing which had a small stream flowing through it. Brushing past the foliage as we emerge into the shady oasis, I ask him to halt and offer him the reins, allowing him to stretch and drink from the small stream. Tall and gnarled trees line the small clearing, creating a quiet circle of green solitude and keeping out any distractions from the world. Giving Hurricane a good scratch, I dismount, sliding off his warm back and removing his bridle, not remotely worried about him going anywhere. Finding a thick branch jutting out from one of the ancient trees, I hang his bridle up and sit on a rock a short distance away, simply enjoying the feeling of being alone with my friend. Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh and lean back against the trunk of the tree my rock is nestled against, the southing sound of Hurricane's grazing filling my ears.

Unfortunately, the peace does not last as a new sound interrupts the peaceful munching, causing me to half open my eyes. The bushes rustle, the leaves shifting awkwardly and a deep voice curses before the forest spits out a man dressed in a black suit. Twigs jut out of his once carefully styled dark brown hair and leaves sprinkle green in random places on his undoubtedly expensive jet black suit. The man shakes his head as if trying to regain his composer and clears his throat, his eyes locking onto me and leveling a gun directly at my head. Huh, ok, if this had been a few days earlier I might have been slightly alarmed, but instead, I half snort and roll my eyes. Who wears a suit to go romping through a forest?