coat shining like armour in the light of the afternoon sun. It was Mystic!
As the little grey gelding got nearer Issie thought fast. She stopped running and jumped on to a nearby tree stump. “Mystic!” she called out.
The grey pony swerved to follow her and as he drew close she made a flying leap for his back and scrambled quickly onboard. Mystic slowed down just for a moment while Issie regained her balance, and then he surged on again at a gallop, with Issie clinging on desperately, her hands wrapped tightly into his long, flowing mane.
“Go, Mystic!” Issie urged the horse on. She needn’t have bothered though; Mystic was already stretched out running, his legs flying over the ground beneath him, his hooves striking out a frantic rhythm on the rock-hard dirt of the road.
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