The Masked Druid

Broken Dawn

"It's high-time you found yourself a summer horse, Ryn - did your parents want you to loan one here?"

Rubbing the sweat from my forehead with one sleeved arm, I shovelled the last of the horse muck onto a wheelbarrow, looking up at Felicity. She'd begun spreading the new straw, as we worked around the U-shaped stables methodically, the few horses and ponies paying us no mind as we led them out for a few minutes, bribed with carrots.

Felicity was right. I missed riding the horses back home - I missed Belle, Dutch, even Rambo the unruly pony - but my parents were very clear on their terms: I would live in Jorvik, work in Jorvik, and ride a horse from Jorvik.

Apparently, they bred and sold only the best, and you could form strong, life-long bonds with their horses - my parents fell in love with the idea, so a single phone call was all it would take for them to agree to buying, not just loaning, a horse of my choice. The ranch was doing well, and I'd never made a habit of asking for much off them, so this generosity felt sweet and loving. In a way, just remembering the offer reminded me of home.

"Yeah, they're ready to send over the money for a horse- well, whenever I am, basically." I smiled, trying not to focus on the fact that I was probably meant to choose one days ago. I hadn't even had time to look around, with work taking up most of my time. Felicity might've been trying to distract me from my nerves - if she was, then she was doing a good job, because the constant excitement and exhaustion left me with no time to even think about what was going on inside my body.

"Well, why don't you get yourself over to the sales stalls once we finish up here? Firgrove has an excellent selection, y'know."

I tried. I really, really tried. But once my mind slipped out of 'work, work, work' mode, the energy began causing trouble again. I could feel it rippling inside me as I attempted to stroke a Curly's nose, or admire a Morgan's stature, or listen to the salesman tell me over and over about the North Swedish horse's resistance to cold. I couldn't do it. As the sun began to die, fading back behind a mountainous skyline, I was curled up in a strange bed, in a strange inn, in a strange town, my stomach churning, blood shivering, and without a horse.

Despite all my internal struggles, none of the horses had really made an impression. They nickered and nuzzled my hand in my dreams, as I handed out oats from an endless bag, laughing through corn fields, surrounded by a herd of happy ponies. But in the end, they were all faceless. None of them held any identity. They could trot in front of each other, a parade of endless coats and manes, bodies and hooves, and I could never tell one from another. I needed... I needed something to stick.

Just before dawn, a loud shouting and cracking bolted me up out of bed. Running to the window, I yanked back the lacy curtains and peered outside, into the silver darkness. My eyes were caught on a horse - a horse attached to a cart, by two long, thin wooden poles and a heavy-looking harness. Inside the cart, black bags of what I could only assume to be rubbish were piled up, and a man sat atop it all, his arm furiously wrenching back and forth, the reins jerked to the side with his other. As my eyes widened, I realised what was happening. In the hand without the reins, the man held a long, flailing whip, which was brought sharply down onto the horse's back, again, and again, and again.

"Lazy nag!" Crack. "Get yourself moving!" Crack. "Stupid horse!" Crack.

Shocked, I reeled back from the window, trying to process the sight I'd just seen. Even through the horse's long hair, I could imagine the lash marks beginning to form. Its distress echoed through the window, in whines and high-pitched whinnies which screamed danger, help, please. I... had to do something.

Pulling on clothes as quickly as I could, and nabbing my mask from the bedside table, I rushed out of my room and down the corridor, fastening the strap as I went and noticing a few other doors opening on the way. Once out in the cold night air, I spun around to see Felicity and the man arguing, him off the cart now, her in a dressing-gown and boots. It was... a sight.

"You cannot treat that horse so unfairly! It's cruel!" Felicity yelled, face-to-face with the man. "We've discussed this! Why am I not surprised that this is your third horse this week?!"

"It's been a lousy batch, lady! I gotta get the rubbish collected before next year, but missy-four-legs over here is having none of it! She's a work-horse, not one of your stupid kiddie-horses!"

"You've gone too far this time." Shaking her head, Felicity began to move to the cart, noticing me and gesturing for me to come closer. "We're reposessing this horse under the Silverglade Animal Cruelty Act, as a local authority running an animal housing shelter. I'll be in contact with the mayor at first light."

"You and your freaky girl can't take that horse away! It belongs to my boss!" He began to run over, sputtering, and grabbed a strap from my hands, beginning to tug it back into place. "This is theft! You're horse rustlers!"

I couldn't believe what was happening. Up-close, the horse was a mess. Although I couldn't see the wounds, I could only imagine the horror under that matted hair, which clearly hadn't seen a brush for far too long. Its mane had been haphazardously chopped and tied back in a strange fashion, and the poor thing was slumping from the weight of all the leather and metal. This couldn't be happening. Its eyes begged for release - for freedom - for an end to work which it clearly wasn't suited to. I gritted my teeth and began to tussle with another buckle.

"Can someone start preparing a letter for the mayor? Sylvia - Sylvia, explain what's going on and get it in an envelope. Tommy, could you start tacking up Maria? Thank you." Sending curt commands left and right, Felicity worked quickly. The man, becoming uneasy, stepped back, as we struggled to lift the harness up and off the horse, dumping it on the ground. "Someone bring a halter! Ryn - thank you - we've got it from here."

Quietly, I stepped back, and watched the riding population of Firgrove rush forwards and attend to the tired animal. A vet had been called from Silverglade, and Felicity was riding back to Silverglade at the first tentative signs of dawn, an official letter in her saddlebag. All I could do was watch, mesmerised. They led the horse, identified to me by a passing girl as an 'Icelandic Horse', into a stall, where it dozed on its feet as someone detangled the coat and mane, and someone else began to wash away the dirt.

Once the vet arrived, practically leaping off a smart grey horse, sunrise was arriving with full force. Yawning, I helped to bring in the empty haynets and fill up water troughs, watching the vet work whenever I could. Her main focus was on the back of the horse, but, perhaps fortunately, she didn't spend too long with it at all. There was hope, then, that it wasn't too serious, but the atrocity of that night would stay with me for a long time.

I went back to bed for a nap, and woke up at about mid-afternoon, venturing out into the stable. I found Felicity feeding the new horse an apple, and her smile when she saw me told me everything must be getting better.

"I've recommended for Mr. Lills, the driver, to be disciplined, and the mayor seemed pretty outraged. He's happy for the horse to be lodged here, until we can find a suitable owner."

"How are the wounds?" I asked gingerly, but, again, I was met with warmth and happiness.

"She's made of strong stuff. Luckily, the vet only found minimal scarring, likely from past incidents. The main problem," here, her voice became a little quieter, "is the emotional scars which her start in life will have left her. Horses can't just forget their treatment, y'know, and it seems likely that she's not had the best owners. We'll find out more when she's less tired, and we begin to exercise her. Rest and food is the main priority."

"Does she have a name?" Stepping forwards, I stroked the horse's nose, and was met with a huff. "Or did they not even give her that?"

"Firgrove has renamed her." Finding her previous joy, Felicity petted the horse's neck, as it ate the last of the apple. "Dawn, for the time when she found her new home."

"Dawn." The name floated against my tongue - it was beautiful, and the horse seemed to look deep into my eyes and agree.