the mare, trying to gain her trust. Now, as she moved towards Blaze, she didn’t pick up a brush straight away. Instead, she reached out an open hand and stroked her wither. The chestnut leapt away at first, but as Issie tried again and again she finally stood still, letting the girl run her hands gently across her glossy neck, back over the wither and down her front legs, feeling tendon and fetlock, then back up again and along her rump and hindquarters, softly talking to the mare as she went.
All the time, Issie kept her gaze low and never looked Blaze in the eye. The stroking was something she had learnt in Avery’s natural horsemanship classes. Avery had also told her to keep her eyes down – horses are prey animals, and being met by the stare of a human predator was liable to spook them.
By the time Issie lifted up the dandy brush, she was thrilled to see that Blaze was almost relaxed under her hands. In fact, once Issie had scuffed the caked mud off her hocks and began to work on her with the body brush, the mare even seemed to enjoy the feeling of the soft bristles against her skin. When Issie took a thick, damp sponge and ran it down the white stripe in the middle of her forehead, Blaze gave a grunt of pleasure and lowered her head against Issie, using the girl as her scratching post, rubbing up and down against her.
“Hey,” Issie giggled. “Cut it out!” But inside she was pleased to see Blaze acting so friendly with her. She was starting to trust her.
“Hey, Issie,” Stella said as she led Coco up, tying her to the fence next to Blaze, “do you know those men:
“What men?”
“Over there,” Stella said, “in that white van. There are two of them. They’ve been sitting there watching us ever since we arrived. I thought they must have a flat tyre or something, but they haven’t got out of the van to fix it. They’re just sitting there staring at us. It’s kinda creepy.”
Issie put down her hoof-pick and turned around to take a look. Sure enough, there was a white van parked out on the kerb of the road. Two men sat silently in the front seat.
“What are you looking at?” Kate led Toby over to join them.
“That van over there,” Stella said, pointing towards where the two men were parked.
Suddenly there was the sound of an engine revving up, and the white van did a quick u-turn back up the street and was gone.
“Well, they sure left in a hurry!” Kate was puzzled. “Who were they anyway?”
“Never mind,” Stella chirped, “let’s ride.” She looked over at Issie who was still combing out Blaze’s mane. “C’mon Issie. Are you going to tack her up or not?
“I…I don’t think she’s ready to be ridden yet,” Issie said. Although she knew that the truth was she wasn’t ready yet. She was still nervous about getting up on the chestnut mare for the first time, and she certainly didn’t want to do it with Stella and Kate watching her.
“Besides,” Issie added, “Mum doesn’t know I’m here and I’d better get home before she starts to worry.”
“Issie, why haven’t you just told her?” Kate was shocked.
“I will, I will. I’m just waiting for the right moment,” Issie said.
The problem with this secret, though, was that it never seemed like the right time to share it. Every afternoon as she cycled home from the horse paddock Issie imagined herself telling her mother all about Blaze. But somehow, by the time she arrived home, her resolve to share her secret had faded. Not just yet, she thought. Soon. When I’ve nursed Blaze back to health and we’ve made friends. Then Mum will have to let me keep her.
And Blaze was getting healthy fast. In the short time that she had been at the River Paddock, the slender chestnut had put on condition at such a pace that her ribs no longer showed and her coat had lost its stark quality and was beginning to shine a deep burnished gold.
But it was the change in Blaze’s mood that mattered most. When Issie arrived at the River Paddock late one afternoon after school she found the mare with her head over the fence of the pen looking almost pleased to see her.
It had been three weeks now since the chestnut mare had been gifted into Issie’s care. Now when Issie tethered her to the fence paling, the mare didn’t flinch or jump under her touch. Her confidence in Issie had grown. She had begun to trust her.
“What do you think, girl? Shall I take you for a ride?” Issie buried her face in Blaze’s thick flaxen mane. She never thought she would want to get back on a horse after what happened to Mystic. But when she looked at Blaze now she suddenly felt this deep, strong urge. She wanted to ride again.
Then she suddenly realised – what was she going to ride her with? Mystic’s saddle had been crushed in the accident. And since her mother still didn’t even know that Blaze existed, she could hardly ask her to buy her a new one! “Looks like we’re going bareback for now, girl.” Issie smiled at Blaze.
She could use Mystic’s old bridle. It had a simple Eggbutt snaffle bit; just right for Blaze. But before the chestnut mare could wear it, it would need some adjustments. Her pretty Arab face was much smaller, more dished than Mystic’s solid features. Issie moved the cheek straps up a couple of holes and adjusted the cavesson noseband to match. Then she eased the bridle over Blaze’s head to check the fit. Perfect.
Issie grabbed her old spare helmet out of the tack room and, leading Blaze by the reins, she guided her out of the pen and positioned the mare so that she was standing parallel to the fence. Then she climbed up on the railings and threw herself lightly on to her back.
As soon as Issie mounted Blaze the thought struck her: What if this mare is actually unbroken? What if I’m sitting on a wild horse who has never had a rider on her back before?
Her fears disappeared as Blaze accepted her weight and the feel of the bit in her mouth.
“Let’s go, girl!” Issie clucked the mare on and gave her a dig with her heels. Blaze snorted and shot forward at a smart high-stepping trot, which almost rocked Issie off her back.
As Blaze trotted briskly on, Issie found herself sliding around. Riding bareback could be slippery. Without stirrups Issie couldn’t rise to the trot, and the bouncing made it almost impossible to stay on.
Holding on to a handful of mane, Issie wrapped her legs firmly around the mare and tried not to jiggle like a jelly as she trotted on. Steering was nearly impossible and it was all she could do to point Blaze towards the entrance to the dressage ring.
Too late she realised that the chestnut was going too far to the left. She tried to pull Blaze to a halt, but the sudden tug on the reins made her bolt forward, missing the entrance entirely. Instead of slowing down, Blaze broke into a canter and headed for the gate that led to the far paddock.
“It’s OK,” Issie told herself, “the gate is shut. She’s bound to stop.” But Blaze showed no signs of slowing down, in fact her canter increased in speed. Issie found herself completely out of control, her hands tangled in the flaxen mane as she struggled to stay on board.
“My God! She’s going to take the gate!” Issie couldn’t believe it. The gate between the two main paddocks must have been at least one metre twenty high and Blaze was racing at it in full canter, completely ignoring Issie’s frantic tugs on the reins. With her head held high, Blaze was fighting the bit, and Issie didn’t have the strength to haul her back.
A few strides out from the gate, Blaze gave a proud toss of her head, freeing herself from the reins, and then leapt. The chestnut mare arched tidily through the air, clearing the gate with room to spare, and Issie lost her grip on the mane and began to slide. As Blaze landed lightly on the other side of the fence Issie landed too – heavily on the ground with a thud.
The long grass helped cushion her fall. Still, she felt a jolt of pain in her shoulder, and it took her a minute to get her breath back.
As she got up and wiped the dirt off her jodhpurs Issie was shaking and tears of anger