it was after them.
Now Issie understood why Blaze had bolted. She wasn’t misbehaving after all. She was terrified!
Issie tried to look into the woods to see what was chasing them, but Blaze was moving so quickly and the woods were so thick and impenetrable, it was impossible. She couldn’t see a thing. One thing was certain: she wasn’t waiting around to see what it was!
“C’mon, girl,” Issie clucked the mare on now, asking her for more speed. Blaze immediately responded, her stride lengthening, her neck stretched out. Issie felt the pony surge forward underneath her and she bent down low over her mane. The wind whipped against her face, stinging her eyes and whistling around her ears. She strained to listen, trying to hear if the creature was still following them, but any sound was drowned out by the blur of Blaze’s speed.
It was only when they had reached the ridge of the hill that Issie sensed she and Blaze were alone once more. Whatever was in the woods, they had outrun it.
“Easy, girl, steady. It’s OK.” Issie pulled the mare back. Blaze’s flanks were heaving, and her neck was wet and frothy with sweat. “It’s all right, girl. I don’t know what that was, but it’s gone now,” Issie said, giving Blaze a comforting pat on the neck. She knew that she was trying to reassure herself as much as her horse. She listened, but there was still no sound of anything following them. Issie turned her head slowly and looked back up the track behind her. There was nothing there.
Ahead of them, the red dirt path ran close to the forest for another mile or so, then the trail cut down through the paddocks towards the lake. Good, Issie thought, the sooner we get away from the trees the better. She coaxed Blaze into a trot. They needed to keep moving, keep up the pace until they were away from the trees.
When the track finally veered away from the forest and down into farmland again Issie heaved a sigh of relief and let Blaze walk for a while. She still couldn’t believe it. What was that creature in the forest? It must have been almost as big as Blaze – and almost as fast. One thing was certain: she wasn’t taking the same way home!
Issie took out her map again. Lake Deepwater was maybe an hour away. Once they reached the lake they could loop around on to the Coast Road and go back to the manor that way. Then they wouldn’t have to ride back past the forest again.
Issie had the feeling they were still being followed. “Trust your horse, Issie,” she reminded herself. Horses have strong instincts for danger and if Blaze was calm now, that meant they had nothing to fear. Besides, they were in open grassy pasture so if anything was following them Issie would be able to see it coming.
They had been riding on for about an hour when they reached the brow of a hill and looked down at Lake Deepwater. The lake, which was smaller than Issie had expected, sat in a natural basin. The area around the banks was grassy pasture, dotted with a few willow trees by the water’s edge and on the far side next to the water there was a thick grove of blackthorn trees.
Issie looked at her map again. It looked like the Coast Road lay just over the ridge beyond those blackthorn trees. Once she was on the road it wouldn’t take her long to get back to the farm again.
Issie was about to ride Blaze towards the trees when she heard a crashing noise from over the ridge that made her freeze. Not again! Issie thought.
She began to gather up Blaze’s reins, looking around, trying to decide which way they should run. The noise was getting louder now. It sounded like thunder; Issie could feel the rumble shaking the ground beneath her.
With relief, she realised that this sound was nothing like the one coming from the trees earlier that morning. No, this was a sound she had heard many times before and it was unmistakeable. It was the sound of hoofbeats.
From behind the blackthorn trees the horses came into view. Issie watched in amazement as the herd rounded the edge of the lake at a gallop, bucking and swerving wildly as they ran. At the head of the herd was a thick-set buckskin with a bushy black mane and fiery eyes. The buckskin was followed by a stocky strawberry roan, a black and brown skewbald and a motley assortment of buckskins and bays. At the rear of the herd was a grey mare and a chestnut skewbald with a white face, both of them with foals running at their feet. The foals stuck close to their mother’s side. The grey mare’s foal was jet black. The skewbald’s foal was the spitting image of its mother with chestnut and white patches all over its body and a broad blaze down its face.
The horses pulled up on the other side of the lake and stared at Issie and Blaze. They were stocky and broad, Issie noticed, and not really horses at all. Most of them were ponies, not much bigger than thirteen hands high. Their manes and tails were ragged and sunbleached. Their coats were dusty and mud-caked. These were wild ponies, totally unbroken. Maybe they had never even seen a human before.
Blaze, who had been pacing nervously beneath Issie this whole time, suddenly let out a shrill whinny. To Issie’s surprise the mare’s call was immediately returned as a horse rose up before them over the brow of the hill.
This horse’s whinny was brutal and fierce. It sounded to Issie like a battle cry. There was something defiant and challenging about the call and Issie realised what it was. It was the cry of a stallion.
The stallion who stood on the ridge was nothing like the rest of the herd. Those wild ponies were no bigger than Blaze. The stallion, on the other hand, was huge. He must have been at least sixteen hands high and his coat, which was jet black, shone in the sun. He had no markings, except for a slender white stripe which ran down his forehead.
The black horse held himself so proudly with his neck arched and his tail held erect. He had the noble bearing that comes with fine breeding – his face handsome and aquiline, his body large and powerful. It was as if he was sculpted from granite. Issie was possessed with the feeling she had seen this horse somewhere before. But where? Then she realised. He looked just like the painting on her bedroom wall, the portrait of Avignon, Aunt Hester’s great grey stallion.
For a moment the stallion and Issie stood staring directly at each other. Then the big, black horse gave an arrogant snort and began to canter down the hill after his herd, rounding on his mares and threatening them back into formation with his ears flat back. With his teeth bared and his magnificent neck arched, the stallion nipped and squealed at his mares as he cantered. The grumpy buckskin mare nipped defiantly back at him, but even she obeyed eventually, and within a few minutes the stallion had gathered the whole herd together and was standing between Issie and his mares.
With the herd corralled safely behind him, the stallion seemed uncertain what to do next. He cantered back and forth and then stopped, pawing the ground restlessly as if he was considering his next move. Then he raised his head and let out a war cry that was filled with fury, like the bellow of a wild boar.
Issie’s face went pale with fear. Beneath her she felt Blaze stiffen in terror.
I’m so stupid, Issie thought, furious with herself. He’s a stallion and we’re a threat to his herd and now he’s going to attack. We should have run the moment I saw him. Why didn’t we run?
The black stallion was close now – too close for Issie and Blaze to turn and run. His eyes were black with anger. His teeth were bared, ready to fight.
Issie tried to steady Blaze, but the chesnut mare trembled with fear and rage. What would Blaze do if the black horse attacked? She was no match for a stallion! No. They had to make a run for it. What else could they do? After all, there was no one here to save them.
And then Issie realised. Mystic! The little grey gelding
