“But I got your email. You said he was safe. You told me you’d won him back in the race.”
Issie took a deep breath and dried her eyes. “I did win him back. But he’s still at El Caballo Danza Magnifico,” she told her mother.
“For how long? Is Francoise organising his transport home?”
Issie shook her head. “No, Mum, you don’t understand.” She paused for a moment, unable to bring herself to say the words and acknowledge the awful truth. “Storm isn’t coming home. He’s going to stay in Spain. I’ve left him behind…”
The reality hit home when Issie arrived at Winterflood Farm this morning and the colt wasn’t there. The stables seemed so empty without Storm. The farm had been his home ever since he was born. Issie had been right there when his mother Blaze had given birth to him in these very stables. Over the past six months she had raised Storm, marvelling each day at the changes in him as he grew up from a baby foal to a strapping young colt. He wasn’t just any foal—he was Blaze’s son and he meant the world to Issie. She loved him so much. Letting him go had been the hardest thing she had ever done.
Roberto Nunez, owner of El Caballo Danza Magnifico, assured her that it wasn’t forever. The colt would live at El Caballo Danza Magnifico until he was fully trained and then, one day, Issie would get him back again.
At least she still had Blaze. Issie ran her hand over the arch of the Anglo-Arab’s elegant neck, smoothing down her flaxen mane. As Blaze turned her pretty face back towards her, Issie was struck once more by just how much the mare resembled her colt. Storm was a bay and Blaze was a chestnut, but mother and son still shared the same features, the dished nose, broad nostrils and wide, intelligent eyes that were the hallmarks of their Arabian bloodlines.
Blaze nickered softly, her dark eyes looking sorrowful as she nuzzled Issie. “You miss him, don’t you, girl?” Issie said softly. “I know. Me too…”
A sudden noise in the corridor startled the mare and she pricked up her ears. There were footsteps outside the stall, and then the sound of a bolt sliding as the top of the Dutch door opened and there was Tom Avery smiling in at them. He was dressed in his favourite brown jersey and his mop of thick, dark, curly hair was held back by a tweed cheesecutter cap.
“I just came to check on you. Is everything all right?” he asked.
Issie nodded. “Blaze is fine, Tom. I haven’t ridden her for over a year, or even seen her for the past month, so she’s bound to be a little nervous about being saddled up again…”
“I wasn’t talking about Blaze,” Avery said, his voice heavy with concern. “I meant you, Issie. Are you OK?”
Avery knew only too well how painful it had been for Issie to leave Storm in Spain. Although she had tried to act all grown up about it, he knew that deep down she was heartbroken. He had tried to talk to her about it on the flight home, but Issie had been too upset. She had put on her earphones and blocked out the world the whole way back. Avery had the good sense to leave her alone. But now they were home, he could see that Issie was still miserable. When she arrived at the farm this morning she had hardly said a word to Avery, and her instructor couldn’t help being worried about her.
Issie kept brushing Blaze and didn’t look up. “I don’t need you worrying about me too,” she said defensively. “I’ve had Mum fussing over me ever since I got back. I was lucky she even let me out of her sight this morning.”
“She’s just concerned about you, Issie,” said Avery gently. “It’s understandable, after all you’ve been through…”
“I’m OK, Tom,” Issie insisted unconvincingly. “I just wish I knew for sure…did I do the right thing?”
Avery nodded. “El Caballo Danza Magnifico is the best dressage school in the world. They’ll give Storm the finest training. I have no doubt that leaving your colt behind was the right thing to do.”
“So why does it hurt so much?” Issie asked, her voice trembling.
“It’ll get better,” said Avery gently. “I promise. And do you know what I always tell my riders to do when they’re hurting?”
“What?”
“Get back on the horse.” Avery smiled. “Of course, in your case you’re going to have to get back on two of them.
“He was right. Even with Storm gone, Issie had her hands full. Blaze had recovered from having her foal and was ready to start serious training once more. Then there was Comet. The stocky skewbald had been Issie’s star showjumper before she went away, and she was keen to get him primed for competition. The Chevalier Point Pony Club Annual General Meeting was being held tomorrow night, marking the beginning of a whole new season. Next weekend would be the first rally and then every weekend would be full of club days and competitions, dressage tests, one-day events and gymkhanas, and Issie had not one, but two super horses to ride!
Issie loved both her horses equally, but she was smart enough to know that they shouldn’t be treated the same. While Blaze was a delicate purebred, Comet was the opposite—a rough customer like all of the Blackthorn Ponies. After running wild for years on her aunt’s farmland, Blackthorns were a rugged breed, and they didn’t need mollycoddling. So, for the past three weeks of winter rain, she had left Comet grazing down at the River Paddock where other pony-club horses grazed. She knew that the hardy little skewbald would be just fine to face the elements in his thick, waterproof New Zealand rug.
Blaze, on the other hand, was much more fragile. Her Anglo-Arabian bloodlines made her sensitive to the cold. So Avery had offered to keep the mare stabled at Winterflood Farm while they were away, and Stella and Kate, Issie’s best friends, had promised to keep an eye on her.
Now Issie was home and the worst of the rain was over. Blaze would be fine at the River Paddock from now on and today Issie planned to hack the mare there. Blaze seemed to sense that they were about to leave the farm. She moved about restlessly, her metal horseshoes chiming on the concrete floor of the stable block as Issie walked her outside.
“Take it easy on her,” Avery cautioned as he gave Issie a leg-up. “Blaze hasn’t been ridden for a long time so she’s bound to be a bit spooky.”
He was right. As Issie rode down the long, poplar-lined driveway that led from Winterflood Farm Blaze seemed to take fright at every leaf that wobbled in the wind. When they reached the end of the drive and a pheasant flew up from the undergrowth beside them, Blaze startled and leapt forward as if she were about to bolt, but Issie held her back and calmed her down. She didn’t panic at the mare’s display of nerves and she never lost patience with her. Instead, she stayed relaxed in the saddle, whispering secret words to her pony in a soft, low voice, bonding with Blaze once more.
By the time they reached the wide grass verge of the riverbank that would take them to the River Paddock, Blaze wasn’t spooking at all. She was still fresh though, and kept jogging, keen to break into a trot. Issie gave in and let the mare trot on, but Blaze still strained at the reins and Issie realised that the mare wouldn’t be happy until she was let loose to gallop.
She also knew what Avery would say, that Blaze wasn’t ready and they should take it slow, that galloping was a no-no. But at that moment Issie didn’t care. She was desperate to blow the events of the past weeks away and escape from her own thoughts, if only for a moment. She needed to gallop just as much as her chestnut mare did.
Issie stood up in the stirrups, adjusted her
