fingers, inching them out slowly enough to give Blaze her head without losing control. She felt the mare rise up beneath her into a loping canter and then suddenly they were galloping, the grass below Blaze’s hooves dissolving into a green blur as they sped on.
Issie could feel her pulse racing, the wind whipping against her face, cold air stinging her cheeks. It felt good. After the heartache of the past few days, being back on Blaze made her spirits soar. She was consumed by the rhythm of the horse beneath her, surging forward, leaving everything else behind.
Blaze was in full gallop now, her strides lengthening. Issie stayed low over the mare’s neck and kept a tight hold on the reins. They were nearly at the River Paddock and she would need to slow the mare down soon, but not just yet.
As they came into view of the paddocks Issie found that she actually had to work quite hard to bring Blaze down from a gallop. The mare was bristling with energy and high spirits and didn’t want to stop. But Issie worked the bit in her mouth and slowly Blaze gave in to her rider and began to canter and then, reluctantly, to trot.
Issie posted up and down in the saddle in a brisk rising trot, her eyes scanning the paddocks ahead of her. She was looking for Comet, but she was also trying to see if she could spot the other horses too. Kate and Stella both grazed their horses here at the River Paddock. Toby, Kate’s horse, was a rangy, bay Thoroughbred gelding, while Stella rode a cheeky, chocolate-coloured mare named Coco.
In the shade of the willow trees down near the river, Issie caught sight of Comet. He was grazing happily next to Toby, but there was no sign of Coco. Issie’s eyes swept the paddock. She couldn’t see her anywhere.
Coco was probably hidden out of sight. There were lots of trees and dips and hollows in the River Paddock where a horse might be concealed. The mare was bound to be here somewhere.
Then Issie caught a glimpse of something and suddenly she wasn’t so calm about Coco any more. At the far end of the paddock, beyond the willow trees near the river, there was something huge lying down on the ground. At a distance, it looked to Issie like the shape of a horse—and it wasn’t moving. Issie felt a sudden surge of panic. It had to be Coco!
There are lots of perfectly normal reasons why a horse might be lying down. But alarm bells were ringing in Issie’s brain. The horse lying there looked odd. Something was definitely wrong. Issie’s first thought was colic, and it filled her with dread. Coco was a greedy little pony and with the new spring grass coming through she could easily have eaten too much and become colicky. That would explain why she was lying down. But lying down was the worst thing a pony with colic might do. Stomach pains could make Coco kick at her own tummy with her hooves and she might injure herself horribly. If she did have colic, Issie needed to get her up immediately. She had to get Coco walking and keep her moving until she could fetch the vet.
By the time she reached the gates of the paddock, Issie was in a blind panic. She pulled Blaze up and vaulted off, hunting desperately in her pockets for the padlock key. Eventually, she managed to find it and work the lock. She pushed the gate open and led Blaze through.
Toby and Comet, both excited to see another horse at the paddock, did the normal thing and trotted up straight away to greet Blaze. The horse on the ground, on the other hand, didn’t budge. It was lying there at the end of the paddock, utterly still. Now Issie really feared the worst. Was the mare even alive?
Slamming the gate shut behind her, Issie stuck her foot in the stirrup and bounced back up into the saddle. She urged Blaze straight into a canter and clucked the mare on through the paddock towards the dark shape on the ground.
The horse was still lying there, perfectly motionless. However, as they came closer, Issie began to have doubts. Was it really Coco? It was quite definitely a horse—Issie could see the outline of its fat belly and legs sticking out from beneath a winter paddock rug. But as she approached, she noticed that it didn’t actually look like Coco. It was too big for starters. Also, getting even nearer, Issie could see that the horse wasn’t chocolate brown either. It was a piebald, with black and white patches, a bit like a magpie.
There was no time to feel relieved though. Whoever this horse might be, it was still in big trouble.
As Blaze reached its side, Issie had been hoping for some sign that the animal was still alive. Surely a healthy horse would raise its head to acknowledge them? But this horse didn’t even twitch a muscle as Issie dismounted and began to walk towards it.
Issie was just a few metres away from the piebald when she heard the noise. She had never heard anything like it before. It sounded like a troll grunting. Not that she had ever heard a troll grunt obviously, but it was that sort of sound, deep and guttural—almost otherworldly.
Issie took a few tentative steps forward. She was right up close to the piebald and there was no doubt that the noise was indeed coming from the horse. Now that she was right next to it, Issie could see the winter rug that covered the horse’s stomach rising and falling in time to the noise. Issie stared at the piebald lying on the ground in utter disbelief. This horse wasn’t sick or dead. It was fast asleep—and it was snoring.
Issie was about to take another step forward when the black and white horse suddenly stopped making the troll grunts and raised its head off the ground. Yep, there was no doubt about it. The piebald had been asleep all right!
Issie didn’t know whether to feel angry or relieved as she watched the pony lumber to its feet in a rather ungainly fashion. The gelding shook out his mane and looked at her with a dopey, heavy-lidded expression on his face.
Issie stared as the piebald began to graze just a few metres in front of her. He was about the same size as Blaze, maybe fourteen-two hands. It was hard to be sure though because he wasn’t shaped like Blaze in the slightest. He was a tubby pony. Clearly, the only thing he really liked as much as sleeping was eating. He was a true piebald, covered in big black and white splodges, with chunky white streaks through his black mane. He had a white muzzle and a star on his forehead which radiated out so that his whole face was sprinkled with white hairs in a salt-and-pepper effect.
It was a bit of an ugly face, Issie assessed clinically, slightly too large and out of proportion with his body, and with a Roman nose to boot. As far as Issie could tell with his rug on, the pony seemed to have decent enough conformation, apart from being overweight, but he was certainly no oil painting.
Even now that he was awake the piebald didn’t seem particularly alert. He cast a vacant glance at Blaze, showing a complete lack of interest in the mare. He displayed even less interest in Issie who was still standing there, slack-jawed and staring at him. The piebald gave what looked like a yawn, then turned his rump on them both, lowered his head and ambled off.
Issie was gobsmacked. She had never seen anything like it. Horses hardly ever lay down to sleep. They certainly didn’t snore. And she’d never met a horse who wasn’t in the least bit curious to meet another new horse before.
“Well, I’m just glad you’re OK,” Issie said. She was talking to herself though because the piebald wasn’t listening. He was grazing away and resolutely ignoring her. “You are one kooky little piebald.” Issie shook her head. “Whoever owns you has got their hands full.”
She didn’t realise how right she was.
Issie poked about in the tack shed, hoping to find some clue as to who owned the piebald in the paddock, but he remained a mystery. However, there
