Winter of the Crystal Dances

by Angela Dorsey

  Chapter 11

  “Evy? Are you in here?”

  I moved away from Twilight’s right side – I’d almost scratched my way to her head again – and slipped out of the stall before answering. Kestrel was petting Plato just inside the door; he purred so loudly, he sounded like a small motor.

  “Hey. I thought you’d never get here.”

  “What are you doing?” Kestrel asked.

  I smiled. “Spending time with my new horse. Come see her.”

  Kestrel rushed to the stall door and Twilight jumped into the far corner of her enclosure again.

  Another one, I could hear her thinking. How many can there be?

  Kestrel inhaled sharply. “Oh, she’s so pretty. Laticia said you had a cool surprise, but I never would’ve guessed. Where did you get her?”

  “She’s one of the wild ones. Look at her back leg.”

  Kestrel gasped again, this time not with delight.

  “She was attacked in the trees near the meadow last night. The herd came for the hay and something was lying in wait. I think it’s been hanging around for a while now, hoping to get one of them.” As the words came from my mouth, I knew they were true. That alone explained the mustangs spooking at nothing – or what seemed like nothing. And I realized something else: the attacker probably knew the path the mustangs normally travelled to reach the hay. It could’ve been waiting for them to pass, which could be why they stopped coming – until they got too hungry again, that is.

  “Do you know what it was?”

  “A wolf, maybe. I’m not sure. If it is, it’s a weak one. It didn’t do nearly as much damage as it could have.”

  Twilight was feeling less fear now, but no less frustration. Her ears flattened against her skull and her resentment was a beast snarling through her mind as she listened to us.

  “She’s lucky she’s not dead. Tell me everything, in detail.”

  Using the most lavish detail possible, I told Kestrel all that had happened since the last time she’d visited: the mustangs coming every night for while, then getting spooked, probably by the wolf, and Mom and I going out to see if they were still around. Then there was the attack on Twilight, which I said I heard with my ears, and the wild ride on Rusty’s back as we raced to the rescue, the gargantuan effort it took to bring Twilight home, and Mom’s anger, and well, everything. By the time I was done, Twilight was looking even grumpier, as if my voice was the most annoying thing she’d ever heard.

  “All the exciting stuff happens to you,” Kestrel complained, then added with a smile, “Thank goodness. I kind of like sleeping the whole night, warm and safe in my own bed. It would be awful to hear an attack and have to run out into the dark to save someone.” She turned appraising eyes on Twilight. “But how amazing that you saved her life.”

  “Yeah, that makes it worth it,” I said, though there was a lot more than that which made my ability to understand horses worthwhile. Last night had been scary, sure, but it had been exhilarating and fantastic too. But I didn’t want to make Kestrel feel too bad about missing out.

  “She’s really pretty, Evy, but do you think she’ll heal up enough to be sound?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter if she has a permanent limp. As long as it doesn’t hurt her and she can still move fast, she’ll be okay out there.” When I didn’t immediately respond, Kestrel knew something was up. “You are planning to turn her loose when she’s better, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe,” I said, even though I had no intention of letting Twilight go. When that halter went on her head last night, she became mine. “So can you help me check her wound? We’ll have to re-bandage too.”

  “Sure, no problem. Laticia said you needed my help.”

  I opened the stall door.

  “And she said something else too.” Kestrel sounded puzzled. “Something about a revolution calling you? What’s that about?”

  I groaned. I’d forgotten all about the stupid report. “It’s homework – homework of the most stupid, boring, waste-of-time kind. I was supposed to have a report done before you got here and I totally forgot.”

  Kestrel laughed. She understood. She’s home schooled too, but a teacher directs her education through the mail. Mom just gives me stuff to learn. “We can work on it together, okay? It’ll be fun.”

  “Uh huh – fun. But yeah, I’d love your help.” I picked up the lead rope. “I’ll go in first and get the rope on her, and then you come in, really slow, okay?”

  “Okay.

  It didn’t take long to get the lead rope hooked to Twilight’s halter. Though she was nervous of its snaky appearance, she wasn’t really scared of me anymore. I just hoped that not being as scared would translate into being more trusting and calm too, otherwise the next few minutes were going to be unpleasant.

  They weren’t just unpleasant; they were extremely unpleasant. Twilight didn’t want us to get near her injury, let alone touch it. Kestrel stood at her head, clinging to the halter with both hands, while my miserable, angry horse rolled her eyes and fought us every way she possibly could.

  The second time Kestrel was smacked into the side of the stall and the third time I was kicked – yes, with her injured leg, that’s how desperate she was to escape – I knew we had to try something else or we’d never get the wrapping changed. I stepped away from her leg and Kestrel released her tight hold on the halter. Twilight hung her head, tired but unrepentant.

  “I don’t want to throw her again,” I said. “I hate forcing her.”

  “We might have to,” said Kestrel, rubbing her shoulder.

  Talk to her, said Rusty.

  No. I can’t. You know why.

  “Let’s try one more time,” I said.

  Kestrel groaned.

  Twilight’s muscles quivered beneath my hand when I touched her shoulder. She was so tired that this would have to be our last attempt. It was better to throw her than exhaust her when she needed all her energy to heal. “Let’s stand her against one side of the stall.”

  Then listen, said Rusty.

  Now listening I could do. As Kestrel positioned Twilight, I opened my mind to the filly’s feelings – and realized something. She wasn’t objecting to the pain as much as the confinement. She hated having her head held so she couldn’t see what I was doing.

  “This time don’t hold her halter when I try to clean the wound,” I said. “Keep the lead rope loose, so she can see me.”

  Kestrel looked at me like I was crazy. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. She won’t kick me if she can just move away, and she won’t push you around either.” It made so much sense. Why hadn’t we thought of it before?

  Kestrel stayed by Twilight’s head, but let the lead rope hang loose, and I edged toward the filly’s wound, bucket and rags in hand.

  Twilight glared at me.

  Kestrel raised her eyebrows.

  I patted my filly on her rigid back. “Now be good, Twilight. I just want to help you.” She trembled as I slid my hand down her back leg to the top of the bandage. I paused there for a long moment to give her time to accept my touch, then cautiously began unwinding the soiled cloth. Twilight’s pain reverberated through my heart as I gently pulled the bandage away – and yet she didn’t move. Two tense minutes later, the soiled length lay in the straw, filthy and caked with blood.

  “Okay, girl, you did good. Now I just need to wash it. This shouldn’t hurt as much.” I patted her hindquarters and she flinched.

  I wrung the cloth above the wound and let the warm water trickle over it. Twilight’s shock, and then reluctant delight at the warmth, coursed through me. At least, she liked this part of her treatment.

  As the gobs of blood and other gunk slowly loosened and fell from her wound, revealing it in all its horrible rawness, I felt my throat close off. It looked so gross. There was even some white stuff there – I didn’t know what it was, tendon or bone, but I knew it couldn’t be good. Neither body pa
rt was meant to be exposed. I couldn’t even hope for no scar. She was practically guaranteed a white streak down her back leg for the rest of her life.

  I gently smeared on the salve, then pulled the clean bandage from my pocket and started to wind it carefully around the wounded leg. We were going to get awfully good at this, Kestrel, Twilight, and I. Seeing the wound in all its ragged glory made me realize that we’d be doing this for a long, long time. Maybe even into the spring.

  Finally, I straightened. “Good girl, Twilight,” I said. She turned her head as far from me as she could. Obviously, she didn’t care if I thought she was good or not.

  “She was great. I can’t believe it. How did you know that her head being held was the problem?”

  “I didn’t. I was just desperate to try anything different.” I gave Twilight a final pat and Kestrel slipped her halter from her head.

  “You should be a horse trainer. Hey, you want to help me with Twitchy? She drags her feet halfway here and then starts to race along, trying to get here faster. What should I do?”

  “I don’t know.” We moved toward the stall door.

  “Well, guess, oh genius horse trainer.”

  “Um, take some oats with you and give them to her halfway? And then don’t give her any when you’re here. After a while she might get faster at the beginning and slower at the end.”

  “That’s brilliant, Evy.” Kestrel actually sounded impressed.

  “But of course,” I said, haughtily.

  Kestrel punched me lightly in the shoulder and Twilight moved farther away from us. “So you want to do your homework now, genius?”

  I wrinkled my nose with disgust. “Yuck.”

  The report didn’t take too long, once we sat down and actually concentrated on it. And Kestrel was right. It was even a little bit fun to work on together. Part of what made it fun was throwing in some mistakes on purpose to see if Mom would actually read the entire thing. Like saying that part of the labor that children were forced to do back then was writing horrendously boring reports that no one ever read. And that the first printing press newspaper headlines read: “Steam Power Blows.”

  By the time we were done, the late afternoon sun angled across the snow. Night falls early up here. Four o’clock in the afternoon, and already dusk was upon us. Kestrel and I rushed outside to bring the big horses in and to spend a bit more time with Twilight while Mom made dinner.

  As the sun set over the mountains, we let Rusty and Cocoa into their stalls, then roped off the stove so Twitchy couldn’t get near it and left her to sleep in the barn aisle. Twilight was taking the stall that Twitchy normally used.

  All three of the adult horses dove into their hay and grain with gusto. As I groomed Rusty, I decided to ask Mom if we could convert the old chicken house area to a fourth stall, now that I had two horses.

  The chicken venture had been a miserable failure and one I’m sure she didn’t want to repeat. It had started out okay, with young hens and lots of eggs. Loonie especially loved our egg period. She got so shiny from all those raw yolks. But then the chickens got older and stopped laying so much, until one day, the old dowagers gave us their last egg. Elaine told my mom that we should butcher them. They’d be tough birds, being so old, but still good for stews, she said.

  However, Mom couldn’t do it. She couldn’t even give the word for Kestrel’s mom and dad to do it for us, because she figured that would still make her responsible for their deaths. In her opinion, the birds had spent their youth giving us their eggs, so we’d care for them when they were old. Every single hen died of old age, a precious and respected matron, which was great for the chickens, but not so good for our money situation. Those eggs we got in the early years were awfully expensive when we took into account all the unproductive years we bought chicken food. Anyway, that corner of the barn was totally unused now, and it would make a great stall for Twitchy when she stayed over on the cold nights.

  When we brought her grain, Twilight was lying in the corner of her stall, her head resting on some hay she’d pulled from her hayrack.

  “She’s not stuck down there, is she?” asked Kestrel.

  “I hope not.”

  Twilight answered our question by rising ungracefully to her hooves and backing into a corner, as if she expected us to maul her back leg again. I put her hay back in the rack and topped up her water, then left some grain in a bucket. She still hadn’t tasted the oats, but I figured it was just a matter of time.

  We leaned on the door for a while and watched her watching us and talked about her future. One scenario included her jumping over the arena fence at the local rodeo to save me from a mad cow and being discovered by a rich and famous show jumper, who offered us massive amounts of money. Of course, when I said I’d never sell Twilight, the famous show jumper had to take both of us to her fancy stables to train, and we went on to become world champions. And there were some other crazy imaginings too.

  When night had completely darkened the tiny window behind Twilight, Kestrel and I started back to the house, talking a mile a minute and already making plans for tomorrow. First order of business, of course, was turning my wild filly into a polite domestic horse. I was confident we’d have no trouble, not with time and patience. Twilight was just a little stubborn, that’s all. And second, we wanted to make sure that the predator that had attacked Twilight was really and truly gone.