What if all you trusted was to crumble about you?
When a new pony arrives at Valley Riding School, volunteer Abby has no idea of the integral role that he has to play in the unfolding of her life. She goes from riding once per week to preparing for...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
There are no lessons in the school when I arrive at the stables next Saturday, having dipped into my savings to pay for the bus fare. It isn't unusual for the school to be empty when I get off the bus at nine, often the lessons don't start until half past and Kerys has a cup of tea with Penny whilst we wait for the customers to arrive.
The first horse today is Star, and the Shetland pony is tied with a haynet on the yard. His lower legs are coated in wet mud- the field has only just begun to gather the stuff in rivers, promising to make the rivers into oceans as autumn turns to winter.
A few of the branches of trees are bare.
I stop to pat Star quickly before heading to the office and dumping my bag (holding only my lunch instead of the normal riding equipment) at the back on one of the hooks. Kerys sits in the office chair at the desk, piano hands curled around a steaming mug of tea. The mug depicts a woman standing with a heavily rosette laden chestnut. Cursive writing adorns the bottom of the image, but it is blocked by Kerys' white fingers. I can't help but wonder if Kerys is the woman in the photo.
"Hi," I greet her with a familiar smile, "Who's the first lesson?"
"Rose on Star." I nod, recognising the name, but then Kerys continues, "Can I have a word with you Abby?"
A lump seems to appear in my throat where it wasn't before, and nerves flutter up my person. She looks grave, and my recent lack of lessons weighs on my mind like the tolling of a bell. I am not a paying customer.
When I don't respond, Kerys adds, "It's about your riding."
I nod. "Ok."
"You rode Red well in your lesson the week before last-"
"Thanks," I interrupt out of habit.
"- and I was wondering if you would school him for me on Saturdays?"
Relief followed by excitement followed by pride flow through my body, filling me from top to toe until the corners of my mouth are pushed up by the rip tide, my eyes glinting against the water. I am speechless, if not shocked- I have never been offered a free ride. Ever.
It is an honour.
"He's just a bit green," she says, "Not quite ready for the kids and I just don't have time for him on Saturdays."
I nod and mumble an agreement.
"You'll have to work extra hard of course." Kerys' ice blue eyes meet mine- it is almost like they bore into my soul. "Otherwise I'll have to ask Hana or another of the girls to do it instead, but I'd rather have you."
My heart flutters in my chest, I already work hard but I'll work harder, I won't stop all day. I want to prove to Kerys that I deserve this ride, that I am the best person to school Red.
"Thank you." I say at last, "I'll work super hard."
Just then, I see the front gate being opened by a young woman and her daughter, three year old Rose. Kerys rises with a smile: "I'm sure you will."
With that, I am left, standing stunned in the opened door.
---
"I told you Kerys would ask you!" Says Penny as I go to get Red in at lunch.
Hana nods in agreement, although she didn't find out until she arrived at ten this morning. "I'm coming with you to get him- hang on!" She pulls off her jodhpur boots (revealing pink socks patterned with cartoon ducks) and clumsily replaces them with Hunter wellies, the ones I have admired for months. I grab Red's tatty headcollar and threadbare leadrope from the hook and trudge towards the field, Hana in tow. She asks me what I thought of her lesson and how she rode, but I cannot answer- I spent the time tacking up various ponies, filling haynets and sweeping the yard until it was fit for the Queen.
Unfortunately it is now strewn with hay, sand, and trails of sticky mud.
I sigh, "I'll have to sweep it again later." Hana responds with an unsympathetic snigger.
Red looks up as we enter the field but he doesn't come over to us- I can't blame him, it's not like I see him everyday. His neat ears prick forwards and his ever so slightly dished nose ripples in a sound of recognition. The pony stands still while I loop the leadrope over his neck and slide the noseband up and into his head, fastening the headpiece securely.
I click as I turn to leave the muddy field, boots sticking and squelching in the mud, pony following willingly behind me.
A minute later and I stand frustrated at Reds feet, yellow hose in hand- water spraying at the sodden yard. "Good boy," I soothe, "Stand up!" Red jerks away as I slowly move the hose to his muddy legs. It is like a dance, but he looks at the hose like it is a venomous snake, rather than a dancing partner. "I give up!" I call to Hana, who stands by the tap with an amused smile spreading across her features. The water stops, and I rewind the hose so that it no longer drapes across the yard.
"I'll grab you an old dandy," says Hana, darting off into the tack room to get one. I put it in a muddy feed bucket and fill it with the freezing water before kneeling to scrub at Reds feet.
I start at his right fore and work my way around, finishing at his left. Then, I move to his body, currying off the caked mud until chestnut emerges beneath the brown, and then, on his shoulder- just below the withers- a white marking. It is small, perfectly round- a hollow circle. Definitely a freeze mark, but what for, I don't know- it is strange, with no letters. Just a circle of white in an ocean of rusty orange.
All clean, I ask Penny about the marking. She emerges from the office with a sandwich and my stomach rumbles- I haven't had time to eat yet.
"Never noticed it before." She shrugs, "Ask Kerys if you're curious."
Penny retreats back to the office, and I start to saddle him up, looking forward to my imminent ride.
---
Back home, I recline in front of my mother's laptop, hot chocolate fitted loosely between my fingers and kitchen wafting promising scents my way. I sigh and close the tab for the fifteenth time, unable to find any information on the white brand below Reds withers.
It started as an idle curiosity. I didn't really care what it was, but it was when I asked Kerys about it that my interest was sparked, and since it has grown into an inferno. The lack of information online turns it into a wildfire ready to spread out of hand.
I choose to look elsewhere, however, because the internet does not provide me with the information I crave. Instead, I search up the Welsh Pony and Cob society, scrolling down to where it describes the ideal pony. Almost all of the information can be matched to Red, a small, clean cut face with bold eyes, neat little ears and a capacity for jumping. I smile, remembering our gridwork session today. However, nothing is said about Red's long, athletic legs, slender almost.
As the oven timer pings, announcing my long awaited bagel, the pink that spread across Kerys' ice white cheeks earlier on pastes itself onto the forefront of my mind. Not all is as it seems.
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We're getting into it now! Thanks for reading ;)
What do you think of Abby?
What about Kerys?
Do you think the pacing of this chapter is ok? Too fast? Too slow?
I'd be so grateful if you could answer these questions for me, vote if you liked it, and definitely comment any criticisms you have- it all helps!
