The Masked Druid

Troubled

Butterflies flitted about in my stomach, as I headed over to the stable to start a new day of work. I could already see the shaggy head of Dawn, her eyes closed: peaceful. But Dawn wasn't my responsibility - Felicity was going to exercise her, and try to judge her temperament. My job was to keep the stables clean, the haynets and troughs full and the horses neat. Mucking out, fetching heavy rope-bags of hay and buckets of water, and grooming ponies who either loved to kick or nose around in your pockets and work better than any human pickpockets ever could. I wasn't about to complain, but it wasn't exactly easy work either.

About half way through the cool morning, a relief during such physical work, Felicity appeared with a halter in one hand and a coiled up lead rope in the other, nodding at me as she walked past but heading straight to Dawn, who was awake and investigating her trough, lips fluttering against the surface of the water. Determined to keep working, I turned away and kept spreading new straw into the largest corner stall, the dark-coloured horse watching me curiously, as if someone didn't do the exact same thing almost every day.

"Help me out for a sec', Ryn." It wasn't a question, or a request - that was a command, phrased neatly and politely. Spreading one last shovel of straw into the corner stall, I dumped the shovel in the wheelbarrow and stroked the horse's nose as a goodbye, letting it move back into the full-length of its huge stall. "I'm not sure what she'll show us today, so it might be better not facing her alone."

"Sounds like you're about to go into battle." Crossing the stable, I gave Felicity a thin smile. "She-"

Just at that moment, a group of children - proper, waist-height little children - were herded into the stable, by a tired-looking woman. She nodded at Felicity, who called out a greeting, but there was worry behind her words - I turned back to the stall, and realised why. Dawn.

She didn't kick. She didn't snort. She didn't throw her head, or whinny, or stamp her hooves. But her eyes were filled with fear. Whites rolling. Frozen with fright. Just like that night. Felicity was trying to soothe her, stroking the neck, and I began to pat her, looking to Felicity. The kids were rushing around, their teacher - I assumed she was trying to teach them - calling out names and horses, and directing each child to a stall. They flew around, blissfully unaware of Dawn, finding tack, halters, ropes, treats, anything and everything, or so it seemed.

We couldn't calm Dawn until they left, filing out, one to a pony. With every child that left, Dawn began to unstiffen, until her tail was swishing, ears twitching, moving, and, with one toss of her head, we were left alone and she was back to normal. For a long moment, neither me nor Felicity spoke, but we shared a look. I knew exactly what she was thinking. Dawn can't stay here. She seemed fine on that fateful night, when everyone was fussing over her and trying to make sure she was healthy and clean. Dozing. Quiet. Sleepy. Maybe that was how she wandered through life, ignoring the danger and frightening, alarming things which came her way.

But she couldn't doze through a riding lesson - she couldn't doze through a competition - she couldn't even doze on a trail ride through Firgrove's wilderness. Maybe she could doze while being forced to drag a cart through Jorvik, just putting one foot in front of the other - just like I did on the long walk up to Firgrove. But that was before. We couldn't let her go back to that life, not now that she had the opportunity to go to a loving home. But that opportunity would need work.

"The lesson's a trail ride over to Silverglade lake, up a mountain path. We should be fine just outside of Firgrove." Felicity lingered for a moment, looking first at me, and then at Dawn, as if chewing over some idea in her mind. Finally, she let it go with a sigh, and we began to prepare.

She grabbed a grooming kit and sent me back to finish cleaning out the stalls, having Dawn ready with a halter and lead rope by the time I cleaned out the last couple. I walked ahead, keeping one eye behind me as Dawn plodded on behind Felicity, but we didn't need to worry - you could see it in her eyes. Dozing. Sleeping while awake. Drifting. That was a good way to put it. Our destination was a small clearing in the trees to the side of a path, with Firgrove's outer wall on the other side. I stood to the side, leaning against one of the trees around the edge of the clearing, breathing in the mountain air. It tingled in my throat, my lungs bubbling, but I tried to ignore it. My mind needed to focus on Dawn, as Felicity led her around a little, attempting to find her attention and keep it - currently, she was doing neither.

Felicity had carried a lunge line and whip with her on the way down - Dawn had barely looked at either - and she brought Dawn to the centre of the clearing, stopping her and unclipping the lead rope to attach the lunge line. Dawn came out of her doze, ears twitching. One hoof pawed the ground. Curiosity. A spark of life. Her eyes flickered from Felicity to the lunge line as it was clipped to the halter, lashes fluttering. In the hazy morning sunlight, her coat seemed to glow, as her eyes followed Felicity, wondering.

"Walk." The command was clear, crisp in the quiet air, as Felicity encouraged Dawn into a walking circle, keeping the line fairly short, the slack looped in her hand. "Trot."

It wasn't a trot. It was a fluid step into a rushing pace, steady but brimming with energy. My eyes widened, as Felicity gave her a little more slack and stepped round with her, keeping their positions. She seemed pleased enough, encouraging a walk, then into that again - the second time, she didn't say trot, but 'tölt'. The ending of the word was curt, cutting through the air, as she pulled herself into that gait again. Not a mistake. You could see the muscles working underneath that long coat, the head pulled just so, the legs moving deftly. It was... beautiful.

"She prefers tölt to trot." After maybe twenty minutes of work, Felicity brought her down to a halt, switching the line for the lead rope. "Some prefer trot, and you can barely get them to tölt. She's the other way. It's a shame about her spooking, though. It'd be best to find her a home as soon as possible."

Felicity let me lead her back into Firgrove - the kids weren't back yet, so she settled down into a quiet stall, the stable near-abandoned. Someone had stabled an elegant Friesian a few stalls down, and it nickered gently to Dawn - she ignored it. Moving round to her trough, she began to drink, her lips fluttering against the water's surface. Felicity sighed, taking the equipment back to the tack room. I followed, feeling like there was some conversation waiting between us. The room creaked - it was one of those small yet cozy places, which felt separated from the rest of the world, with a low-ceiling and one short door, no windows and uncovered light bulbs glowing a homely orange.

"She'll be a wonderful horse for someone." The words wavered, not quite confident of themselves. I chewed on the inside of my cheek as Felicity put the halter back, coiling the lead rope, moving from one rack to another, checking that everything had been put back properly. The kids had taken the tack for the Firgrove ponies, so there was a long row of empty equipment racks, but some others were occupied, little whiteboard labels covered in erasable marker scrawl. "It'll just be difficult to find that someone. We can't keep her as a horse for the lessons, or the rides. Poor thing. Such lovely gaits, nothing wrong with her body, her form. She needs a good rider, independent activities that can keep her busy, a gradual introduction to other people, work to find out what spooks her, a discipline that keeps her mind and body busy."

Those words occupied my mind for the rest of the day. They followed me into bed, blending into the ghost of two curious eyes, lit up throughout my dreams. The herd of happy horses and ponies was gone, replaced by a dark tunnel, with those eyes at the end. Poor thing. But there was something about her, something that someone needed to see - she needed help, not abandonment. It'll just be difficult. There had to be someone who would look past that, put the effort in, find it in their hearts to work for her. She needs a good rider. Throughout all of Jorvik, there had to be someone. Dawn needed her dusk - without it, she was lost.