he sniffed for her. “I’m coming!” she insisted. She unearthed the boots from beneath a pile of coats and pulled them on and pushed her way back out through the canvas flap. Mystic was standing close to the ramp so that Issie could use it as a mounting block. She vaulted on expertly, not worrying that the pony had no saddle or bridle. She had always ridden Mystic like this. She remembered the very first time when they had taken a midnight ride to the pony club from her house. It had been terrifying at first, trying to bounce along bareback at the trot without anything to cling to. But Issie was a far more accomplished rider now. Her natural balance was so honed she relied on her seat alone. Not that it was far to fall anyway if she had come off. Compared to being on big, sixteen-two hand horses like Nightstorm and Victory, the grey pony felt very low to the ground. It had been a long time since Issie last rode Mystic and she was suddenly aware of how much she had grown. She was far too big for him – but Mystic didn’t seem to mind. As soon as he felt her weight settled on his back he set off at a brisk trot, weaving between the horse trucks. Issie wrapped her hands in the pony’s coarse mane as Mystic trotted his way through the twisting maze of vehicles, heading towards the Badminton House stable block.
It usually took about ten minutes to walk from her truck to the stables, but in a matter of a few minutes the grey pony was pulling up to a halt in the shadows outside the stately stone buildings.
“Good boy!” Issie gave him a slappy pat on the neck and then slid silently to the ground. The grey pony knew he could only take her this far. There was a watchman at night on the gates so she’d need to go alone from this point.
As she ran towards the stable block, Issie cast a glance back over her shoulder at Mystic. She had hoped to catch one last glimpse of his snowy face in the darkness but she should have known better by now. The grey pony was already gone.
As she ran through the entrance gates the security guard dropped the magazine he’d been reading and shone his torch on her.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He put out an arm to stop her as she tried to race past.
“I need to get to my horses,” Issie said. She was trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy. Her mind was flashing back to that night in Chevalier Point all those years ago when Storm was stolen. He had been just a colt at the time and the ordeal had been terrifying. Now, Issie was worried that it was happening once more. Had someone come to take her horse? She couldn’t stand to go through it again.
“ID tag?” the guard said.
Issie lost her cool. “I’m wearing pyjamas! Does it look like I have my tags on me?”
The guard looked closely at her. “So what’s the big hurry about?”
“I need to get to my horses.”
The guard looked unimpressed by this vague explanation. “I’m sorry but without tags… hey!”
Before he could say anything more, Issie had ducked under his outstretched arm and was running through the courtyard towards the stable block.
She entered the corridor of the stable block and ran down the row of stalls. Victory was there! She could see him through the bars on the top of the door to his stall. He seemed to be totally fine.
“Hey, you!” Issie could hear the guard running up the corridor behind her but she ignored him and continued on to the next stall.
“Storm?”
Her breath was coming in gasps as her throat constricted with nerves. Her heart was racing. When she reached the door to his loose box she half-expected to find his stall empty, her best horse taken from her once again. But Storm was still there too!
Relieved to see him, Issie collapsed against the loose box door and put her face up to the bars.
“Hey, boy!” Issie smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re OK. I was worried about…”
The smile disappeared from her face. Storm usually came to the door to greet her, but he was acting like he wasn’t even aware that Issie was there. He seemed preoccupied. He kept turning his head around to look at his flank and then lifting his hind leg to kick at his belly.
Issie was confused. She had seen Blaze behave like this once when the mare was about to have a foal. But Storm was a stallion. He wasn’t about to give birth, so why was he behaving like…
Suddenly, the big bay dropped to his knees in the loose box and began to roll. At that moment, Issie knew what was wrong. She was about to slide the bolt to his stall when she felt a hand clasp her roughly on the arm.
“You’re in serious trouble!”
It was the security guard. His face was flushed from sprinting and he was clearly furious.
“No!” Issie turned to him, “You don’t understand. I’ve got to get in there! Look at him!”
Storm was lying down on the straw bedding of his stall, and rolling frantically from side to side, grunting in pain.
“He’s got colic!” Issie said. “If we let him roll he’ll end up killing himself! He’ll twist his bowel and then he’ll die!”
The guard let go of her arm. He was an officious sort, but he had also been hired because he was a skilled horseman and he knew immediately that Issie’s assessment of the bay stallion was probably right. Colic was like a very painful stomach ache – and the horse would keep rolling to try and relieve the pain. But the rolling would actually make matters much worse. The situation could very quickly turn deadly if they didn’t act fast.
“Let’s get him up!” the guard said, reaching out to pull back the sliding doors of the box.
Issie was already way ahead of him. She reached for the halter and lead rope that were hanging by the stall door and slipped the halter over Storm’s head. The stallion was still lying down and even as Issie tried to buckle the halter up, he was attempting to roll again.
“Hey, no, Storm,” Issie said, trying her best to subdue her own panic and speak gently to the horse. “Easy, boy, don’t roll. I’m here now. We’re going to get you up on your feet…”
But Storm wasn’t listening. As Issie tried to secure the buckle on the halter he flung his head up, narrowly missing her face. She reeled backwards and before she could grasp the halter again Storm had flung himself to the ground, legs flailing over his head. Issie was forced to flatten herself against the stable wall to avoid the flying hooves.
“Storm! Stop it!” There was a wild look in the stallion’s eyes. He was in so much pain that he wasn’t listening at all. A wall had gone up between them and she couldn’t get through.
Issie looked at her beautiful horse, writhing in agony. She had to pull herself together and act now if she wanted to save him.
Avoiding the thrashing hooves, Issie stepped closer to Storm’s head and shouted out to the security guard. “I’m going to need your help! Can you get to the side of him and prepare to push?”
The guard immediately grasped her plan and backed his way around the loose box, avoiding Storm’s legs which were still waving violently in the air, until he’d managed to get himself into position near the stallion’s flank.
“Stay back from
