by Maggie Joan
I put my bag down on the ground and jiggled things around inside it so I could use it as a pillow. I settled down on my left side and closed my eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.
***
A soft tickling sensation across my face roused me from my sleep. I opened my eyes to see two huge green eyes staring at me and whiskers brushing against my cheek. A gorgeous black and white cat stood in front of me, purring, its tail up in the air like a flagpole.
“Hello,” I said, reaching out and stroking its head. “And what are you doing?”
It touched my nose with its own and then turned around, showing me its ass and rattling the end of its tail. I giggled and stroked it. I’d never had so much as a goldfish, but I adored animals. They held such compassion and unconditional love, it baffled me. I wished I could view the world as simply as they did sometimes.
After a few minutes of me fussing it, the cat decided to lay down next to me, curling up next to my bag and against my chest. I didn’t complain in the slightest. For the first time in a long time, I actually went to sleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter 9
When I woke again, the cat was still there. It had obviously woken at some point because it was laying on its other side. That filled my heart with more love and joy than anything ever had. It didn’t know me from Adam and yet it had chosen to stay with me. A whole world surrounded it, waiting for it to explore the beauty, and yet this kind little soul chose to keep me company as I slept.
The earth felt warm beneath me, heated by the June sun all day, but the slight chill in the air told me it would be setting soon, and another night would soon be upon me. Time to make some decisions. Did I stay here a little while longer or did I move deeper onto the moor? I glanced over at my feline friend and smiled. I didn’t want to move and wake him or her. I would stay until the cat left me.
My throat felt as dry as the desert, but I knew if I reached for the water in my bag, the cat would wake and leave. As much as I knew that would happen eventually, I didn’t want it to be because I’d forced it. I turned my thoughts to Marsha and Roger. Did they know I’d gone yet? Had anyone even missed me at school today? Having left my phone at Marsha’s, I felt such a sense of relief and freedom from not having it on me I wondered why I’d ever wanted one in the first place.
Not being tied to an electronic device made way to enjoy the simple, beautiful things in life, such as the company of a strange cat. Or the sound of crickets chirping as the sun set. Things that were taken for granted and overlooked every single day in place of a virtual world that bred nothing but bullies and hate.
Some time after dark, the cat finally rose to its feet. It stretched out its legs, meowed at me, and trotted off into the night. It wasn’t skinny by any means which meant it most likely had a home where someone loved it. I smiled to myself and finally sat up, quenching my need for water. I didn’t feel hungry in the slightest, so I didn’t bother to open any of my food. No point in eating it just for the sake of it.
I stood up, brushed myself down and guided by moonlight again, moved on. I emerged from the trees into the wide-open plains of the moor. I knew all the local legends about ‘The Beast of Bodmin Moor’ but I paid little attention to them. There were so many stories to prove its existence and just as many to disprove.
Personally, I felt it more than likely. I’d studied pictures, videos, and reports. Some of them were obviously a domestic cat, but others were clearly something else. When the skull of a big cat was found on the edge of the moor a couple of years back, that kind of cemented the truth for me. Whether anything was still lurking around was another question.
Dartmoor Zoo claimed to have released puma’s back in the eighties which would mean at least two generations of them had lived up to now. Whatever the case, if my end was to be a grisly, bloody death by a big cat, then so be it. It would just about be the perfect ending to my life. I smiled as I realised it really would be like mother like daughter if I died a gory death too.
I ambled across the uneven ground carefully. Now away from civilisation, I had no need to keep up a hurried pace. The last thing I needed right now would be an injury. The silence out here on the moor was so profound, it bordered on eerie. Combined with the moonlight and how vulnerable I was being out in the open, I shuddered as I wondered if a pair of glowing green eyes were watching me from the long grass, waiting to pounce and end me at any given moment.
My destination for the evening’s journey was a small area of woodland and trees east of King Arthur’s Hall. Thanks to my keen interest in the supposed beast that lived out here, I knew where various landmarks were along the moor and would use them as my map. A small river ran just south of the woodland, it was remote, and provided perfect shelter.
I walked for what felt like hours, my feet and my legs soon complaining of the exercise once again. When I skirted the fence of King Arthur’s Hall and saw my destination in the distance, I found my second wind. With no idea of what the time was, I felt nothing but free. That alone gave me so much happiness.
When I finally reached the trees, and saw how pitch black it was inside, I decided the clever thing to do would be to wait until daylight before venturing inside. I'd made it this far under moonlight and stars, the last thing I needed was to injure myself right as I reached the end. I could afford to sit on the treeline and wait for daylight. It's not like anyone was going to be walking by here anytime soon. My only company would be nocturnal insects and animals.
I sat down with my back against one of the trees and groaned in delight. My feet were throbbing and I was fairly certain I could feel a blister or two forming on my heels. My thighs ached like I'd done a hundred squats. I scolded myself for letting my fitness levels drop these past few months. I'd felt so comfortable and relaxed at Marsha’s that I'd felt no need to continue with my daily jogs.
In the past, my sole intention of keeping fit had been for situations like this. Whenever social services shipped me somewhere new, I never went with the thought of ‘this could be my forever home’ but with the thought of ‘I wonder how long I'll stay here’ or ‘I wonder where I'll be this time next month’. As a result, making sure I was in top shape, ready to flee at a moments notice, had been my highest priority.
When I was placed at Marsha’s though, I knew instantly things were different. This would be somewhere I could stay for more than a couple of months. Instead of my usual ‘I wonder where I'll be this time next month’ I thought ‘I wonder how I’ll mess this one up’. And here I was, messing it all up. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I wouldn’t be found, it was only a matter of time, I knew that, but being out here gave me the perfect opportunity to make the most of the time I would have to myself.
Geraldine, my social worker, would be absolutely livid. Every time something went wrong it was always my fault. Even when I told her the truth about abusive foster parents, it was always somehow my fault. I'd even come to wonder if she cared more about her statistics and perfect KPI’s than she did the kids she looked after.
But for now, I didn’t need to worry about that. It would be weeks before they found me and that would give me more than enough time to clear my head, set myself straight, and be ready to jump back into the murky abyss of the foster system.
I leaned my head back against the tree and sighed. Thoughts of my father filtered in from somewhere and I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him. Had he gone to prison? Had he been to rehab and turned his life around maybe? Or was he still the same bitter, twisted person? Did he regret what he’d done? Was he dead?
As I pondered over the options, I realised that actually, him being dead was probably the best option. If by some miracle he’d managed to turn his life around and become a nice person, I still knew his capabilities, the darkness that lurked deep inside him. I'd never be able to forgive him for killing my mum, no matter his state of mind at the time.
There was a lot to be said for the whole nature versus nurture argument. I had ever
y justification under the sun to be a copycat of my father, but I had no desire to be like that. It wasn’t in my nature. Yet he was evil right down to the core. He was born a rotten apple and just soured more and more as life went on.
From what I did know of his upbringing, he’d been born to a wealthy family, had opportunities galore handed to him on a silver plate and yet he chose a life that was the exact opposite. His family disowned him and as a result, I had grandparents out there as well as two aunts and three uncles, that I had never met and likely never would meet. All because of his selfishness and the shadows he wanted to live in.
I hoped, if he was dead, that he could see all the suffering he’d caused and would be remorseful, maybe even help direct my life in a good way, to make up for the sins he’d committed and the nightmare I'd been forced to live as a result.
Out of the corner of my left eye, I caught movement along the empty moor. I turned my head and almost gasped in surprise. Limping along the vast landscape was nothing other than a lone horse.
Chapter 10
The lunar light cast him in beautiful shadows, making his grey coat look almost pearlescent white. Even from this distance, I could easily tell he was a he. The crest in his neck, his body, the tell-tale sign underneath his stomach, he was every inch a stallion in his prime.
As he moved, his muscles rippled, making him look absolutely spectacular. This moorland wasn’t horse territory though. What was he doing out here all alone in the middle of the night? And how badly was he injured?
Just like every other little girl, I’d dreamed of having my own pony when I was younger. I’d spent hours poring over horse books, learning about all the breeds and different disciplines. Many days had been taken up daydreaming about show jumping on a magnificent Thoroughbred or doing piaffe’s and effortless passage on stunning Andalucian’s.
This horse was clearly neither of those. Under the silvery light, he looked to be a chunky sort, possibly a native breed. The way he was hobbling on one of his front legs though really concerned me. I carefully rose to my feet, intent on getting as close to him as I could to try and gauge his injury better.
I knew he couldn’t be wild. There were no wild horse herds on Bodmin, and he was far too big to be a Dartmoor stallion. Plus, he looked far too well with his gleaming coat to be anything but an escaped domestic horse. That meant I should be able to get close enough to him to be able to potentially help him.
As carefully as I could, I tip toed along the treeline, watching him for any signs of him having heard me moving. He’d come to a stop at the small river to the south of the trees and was taking a drink with his rear end facing me.
Stepping out of the shadows, I moved towards him. I managed to make around six feet before his head shot up, his ears twitching back and forth. I froze, my heart pounding. On his left shoulder, I could just make out a dark streak running down his leg. His knee looked to be pretty swollen too.
Now around thirty metres from him, I could tell he was a Connemara and an absolutely stunning example of the breed at that. Considering he was entire, and where his injuries were, I guessed he had escaped from his field. Someone would be missing him in a few short hours when they woke up to go and feed him.
“Hey, boy,” I whispered, taking another step towards him.
He snorted and turned to face me. He pricked his ears so far forward they were almost touching at the tips.
“You look pretty beat up there,” I said. “Looks like you need some help.”
He stamped his good front foot on the ground and tossed his head up and down.
“Ok, ok,” I said, holding my hands up and slowly sinking to the floor.
His entire body quivered and trembled—he was ready to flee at any second. I didn’t want to cause him alarm nor give him reason to potentially hurt himself even more.
For several minutes I sat there, simply looking up at him, admiring his natural beauty. He didn’t falter in his attention on me for a second. Just as I began to wonder how long we were going to be taking part in this stand-off, a rabbit popped up a few feet in front of him. By the time I’d realised what it was, he’d fled, his tail high up in the air and his hooves thundering across the ground.
***
By the time dawn broke on the horizon, I was more than ready for some sleep. My stomach grumbled at me finally and I gave in and ate a biscuit of my emergency rations. A biscuit didn’t sound much but this stuff was awesome. It increased in volume when mixed with liquid which meant as soon as it hit my stomach, it swelled and filled me up nicely.
I finished the last of my water and wandered down to the river to refill my bottle. The water quality of the De Lank river was renowned for being exceptional. The source of it was right here on Bodmin which meant nothing flowed up, only down. I wasn’t stupid enough to drink it neat though.
Filling the litre bottle, I carried it back to my bag and fished out my iodine drops. I read the instructions in the breaking dawn light. Five to ten drops per litre of water. Closer to ten if the water source was still or the water was cloudy. Closer to five if the water was flowing or clear. I decided to go for the middle ground and added seven drops.
I had to then wait five minutes, thread the bottle so the rim was free from bacteria and such as well, and then wait a further thirty minutes before the water was drinkable. I decided after threading the bottle, which simply meant turning the bottle upside down and unscrewing the lid until water leaked from all around the cap, then turning it back the right way, I would have a nap.
As I waited to thread the bottle, I scanned the horizon, looking for the Connemara stallion. I couldn’t see him at all. I hoped wherever he’d gone, he’d find his way home and that his injuries weren’t too bad.
Dawn fully broke out over the moor, giving me a glorious scenic view of orange rays spilling out over the plains, basking everything in a bright sunshine. The birds were in full song and the heat from the sun rise was already making the ground mist after a damp night.
I threaded my bottle, looked inside the trees, and decided it was time to rest. I could fully see inside now daylight had broken. After scouring the area carefully, I chose my spot at the north end of the trees. Any walkers or animals would stick to the river and the further away from people I was, the better.
The north end of the trees sat parallel to a derelict barn and dry-stone corral. I would investigate them later on when I woke up. After all, a solid roof over my head would be better than trees but for now, the trees would do.
Chapter 11
I woke sometime in the afternoon. The sun had moved around but its heat was still borderline intolerable. I felt surprisingly fresh and well rested. Eyeing up my iodine cleansed water, I braced myself for the bitter taste. As the water flooded my mouth, I found myself pleasantly surprised. It had a bit of tang to it but was more than drinkable.
Carefully, I rose to my feet, listening out for voices, dogs barking, or any other indication of human life. Satisfied I had no immediate unwanted company, I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. I wanted to investigate the derelict barn. Perhaps a quarter of a mile to the west of the trees, it wasn’t far at all from my current spot. It had its own barrier of trees around it which would provide me with even more cover.
I peeked out of the tree line, looking left and right to see if there were any little dots on the horizon indicating humans. It looked all clear so I stepped out, shoulders square and head held high, pretending I was just out for a regular stroll.
As I crossed the grass, I kept an eye out for the stallion, wondering where he could have gone to and hoping he wasn’t further injured. I could see no hint of him whatsoever. Disappointment rose inside me and I couldn’t help but feel a little bit sad. I’d not been near a horse in years and I did miss it, even if the memories of it were somewhat tarnished.
At the age of ten, I’d been placed in a foster family home down in Newquay. I was the sixth addition to their family and I’d had such a good feeling about th
em. I was the fourth girl to be added but not the youngest. One girl, Emily, was six. The other two girls were twelve and fourteen, Molly and Joanna.
The dad, David, had been every little girl’s dream of a perfect father. He spent time with us watching girly movies, he helped us plait our hair, joined in with tea parties and dressing Barbie dolls, and he even baked cakes. Absolutely delicious, mouth watering cakes.
After I’d been there for a month, David said I could join the reward chart. I’d been so excited I nearly weed myself. Once a week on a Saturday, David took the girls horse riding but only if they’d been well behaved during the week.
The mum, Karen, was caring for twin boys, both still infants and feeding from the bottle, so she appreciated David keeping us older ones entertained. My memory of my first time sitting on a horse was something that would always stick with me. Not because it was so thrilling and enjoyable, but because it was my first inkling that something wasn’t quite right.
David picked me up and put me on the saddle. I’d expected that as the pony was huge but apparently the best one for beginners to learn on.
As I sat in the saddle, David put one hand on my bum and the other between my legs. “You need to sit nice and deep,” he said, pushing me into place.
His hands lingered for a little longer than necessary, but I ignored it. The other girls didn’t seem phased by him at all, so I kept quiet. Maybe it was just how you had to be shown how to sit. Once I’d learned how to sit, he wouldn’t have to touch me like that again.
