Winter of the Crystal Dances

by Angela Dorsey

  Chapter 9

  Mom ran from the barn when we entered the meadow, Loonie bounding before her. Twilight pulled back when she saw the dog and a spike of her fear jabbed my heart before I was able to block it. Resolutely, I pulled it out and forced it to the back of my mind to join the rest of her emotions.

  “Keep Loonie back!” I yelled. Twilight jumped and almost fell again at the sound of my voice.

  Mom stopped short and called the dog back to her. Loonie obeyed but sat at Mom’s feet and whined. Obviously, she was the one who’d turned me in, probably waking Mom shortly after Rusty and I galloped away from the house.

  She and Loonie moved well to the side so I could lead Twilight toward the barn. When we drew even with them, I stopped.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said before she could say anything. “I had to go help her. I should’ve told you, I know, but I just… well, I just had to go help her. She was attacked by something. A wolf, maybe.”

  Mom tightened her lips and didn’t say a word. There was nothing I could do to fix it right then and Twilight’s wound needed attention, so I kept going. It took ages to get the filly inside the barn. The building was unfamiliar and dark, and the flickering lantern light just freaked her out more. She certainly didn’t associate barns and illuminating flames with safety and comfort and home, like Rusty and Cocoa. Yet, eventually, she did step forward, and only I knew how much courage it took for her make those steps. She was an amazing little horse.

  Once inside, I led her toward the one empty stall. Our barn isn’t very big, with Rusty and Cocoa’s roomy stalls along one side, the center aisle with the stove at the end, and a tiny tack room, a small stall, and an empty chicken house on the other side – our last ancient chicken had passed away last fall. Then there was the loft over it all, holding the hay.

  When Twilight reached the stall doorway, she straightened her front legs and leaned back. I didn’t dare stop pulling because I knew she’d fall if I did. She was already expert at using the pressure on the lead rope to balance herself.

  Rusty bumped her with his nose, but still she refused to enter. Going into that tiny little stall was just too much, and she couldn’t force herself to do it – until Mom stepped up behind her and ever so gently patted her on the hindquarters. Twilight leapt forward, almost running me over, and Loonie barked uproariously, a bundle of nerves around this horribly unpredictable creature.

  I dropped the lead rope – my hands were far too cold to unbuckle the stiff old halter – and left the stall, quickly shutting the door behind me.

  I knelt beside Loonie. “Shhh, girl,” I whispered, and gave her a hug. “It’s okay.” When I stood up, Twilight was huddled into the farthest corner. Her eyes, reflecting the lantern light, glowed like angry stars in her face.

  “I’ll go melt some water so we can clean her leg.” Mom’s voice was tight, but at least she was talking now. She wheeled away from me and stomped toward the barn doors. When she left, she almost slammed the door. Almost. Either she wasn’t as angry now or she was controlling herself around Twilight so as not to stress the poor mustang further. Maybe if I slept in the barn tonight, Mom would be completely over it by morning.

  “Stay, Loonie,” I said before scooting up the ladder and throwing down a bale of hay. After breaking it open, I put Rusty in his stall and gave a bit to him and Cocoa. There’s nothing so calming as listening to horses eat and I thought it might help Twilight, not only to relax, but to eat something too. She was dreadfully thin, despite the nightly feasts we’d given them. Rusty nickered gratefully to me. Not that he was hungry – he just likes food. A lot.

  Twilight shrank back as far as she could when I entered her stall with her hay under my arm. I shut the stall door before Loonie followed me, then shushed her when she whined again. She whined louder, obviously thinking I needed protection from the wild beast. I dropped the hay and stepped back outside the stall, and Loonie crowded up against me, pushing into my leg as I leaned on the stall door. I’d wait until Mom returned before going back inside the stall. Maybe Loonie would feel better with both of her humans in the barn.

  “Good girl, Twilight,” I murmured over the half door.

  She shuffled through the straw to put her hind end toward me. I didn’t mind. Her new position offered a great view of her injury and – big relief – I could see it wasn’t bleeding anymore. However, it was so covered with thick drying blood that I couldn’t tell how much damage had been done. Obviously, it still hurt her a lot too – she still didn’t want to put any weight on it.

  Why was Mom so slow? How long did it take to melt snow in a pot anyway? While I waited, I stoked up the fire. The filly was shivering and though it wasn’t freezing inside the barn, it wasn’t very warm either.

  The barn door opened as I was walking back to the stall and Mom entered, a bucket in one hand and some rags and my gloves in the other. We met at the stall door.

  “Sorry, Mom,” I tried again. “I really am.”

  Her eyes seemed softer. She handed me my gloves. “You could have died out there, Evy. And I couldn’t have helped you. I didn’t know where you were and…” Tears slid down her cheeks – which totally made me cry.

  I threw my arms around her ribs. “I’ll never do that again. I promise I won’t. Okay?” And I wouldn’t, because now I could control the horses’ thoughts and emotions. I would never be overwhelmed again.

  She leaned her head on top of mine. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispered. “What happened out there?”

  I told her about all of it, except the part about sensing the horses of course, as we gathered the salve and bandages from the tack room.

  “So how do I help?” she asked, when we stood, ready, at Twilight’s stall door.

  “We have to throw her down and one of us hold her there while the other cleans the wound and bandages it. It’s not going to be fun.”

  “Which do I do?”

  “You treat the wound. You know more about cuts and stuff.”

  “Okay,” agreed Mom.

  I pushed the stall door open. It wasn’t hard to get Twilight down. She practically threw herself during her attempts to avoid us. As soon as she fell, I knelt beside her and held her down by not letting her raise her head. At first she thrashed a bit, but then Mom threw a blanket over her. Either she felt safer, being all covered up, or the warmth lulled her, because it didn’t take long for her to stop fighting. Mom moved to her back end with the bandages, warm water, and salve, and started to swab the wound, quickly and efficiently. Years in the bush had made her a very competent nurse.

  I stared down into Twilight’s eyes. She was looking up at me, once again with fear. Then she moved her gaze away. She didn’t want to even look at me anymore. I was that abhorrent to her.

  Mom was finished amazingly quickly. When she climbed to her feet and pulled the blanket from Twilight, I unclipped the lead rope from the halter and slowly released the filly. This time she needed no help at all to stand. The bandage must already be helping with the pain.

  “Let’s get back to bed,” said Mom, putting her arm around my shoulders. “She needs time to get used to her new surroundings and you need some sleep.”

  “I’ll get her some water first.”

  Mom handed me the bucket with the bloody water in it. “Dump this outside, then scrub it out with snow and take some of Rusty’s water. His trough is full.”

  I nodded. Even though I wanted to stay in the barn, Mom was right. Twilight needed to sort out everything that had happened to her. I could feel her information overload like a massive ball of confusion bouncing around inside her brain.

  But I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I was going to worry all night that she was going to hate me forever. For some bizarre reason, she blamed me for the attack. Then I’d chased off her family, dragged her into the barn, pinned her down in the hay and let another dreaded human hurt her leg. Since I was the one who’d saved her, it didn’t seem fair. I had to get her to see the truth somehow. She w
as my horse now, after all.

  And that was another good reason to lie sleepless in bed. Who can sleep after getting a new horse? Especially a beautiful buckskin filly: smart, fun, and full of life. Twilight was a dream come true – if I could only get her to stop hating me!