am interrupted by a shrill noise. At first, I just tilt my ears a bit, ignoring the pestering noise that is interrupting my moment of joy. But the noise persists, a bit louder this time, and making a ringing vibration deep in my ear. My blissful moment gone, I turn sharply to the source of the sound, expecting something troublesome and irritating. Instead, I find the spindly, holding his container over the edge of the long brown barrier. I trot to him, stumbling a bit, but I’m too hungry to care about my pride.     As I gulp down the creamy substance, the spindly touches my head, smoothing down the fur behind my ears. I appreciate it, though I’ve no idea why he’s doing it. Perhaps he wishes to be friends. I have never seen my mother do this to me, for she normally keeps her distance. But it feels so pleasing to have the spindly do this to me that I rub my head against his upper leg to show that I noticed. The spindly does the peculiar action again, the one where it’s mouth turns in an awkward way, but by now I know that it means it is happy. Once I have finished my meal, the spindly walks away. I turn from the barrier as well, satisfied with myself. Unlike my mother, at least I am appealing to the spindly. Somehow I know it will keep returning with my creamy, life-staining meals.  

 

  The weeks following are relatively similar. Instead of being bored, however, I find that I enjoy my routinely simple lifestyle. I wake, I eat, I play, I sleep. A few days after my first feeding, my spindly introduced me to another horse. At first I was baffled; who knew there could be more horses than just me and my mother? The horse is short, but he is still taller than me. He is old too, much older than my mother, but I do not care. Sometimes he can be quite boring; all he normally does is pace around with his head lowered to the ground. He seems to be eating. I wonder why he doesn’t have his meals brought to him. Feeling sympathetic, I pass this fact on as bad luck. He doesn’t run away when I come near like mother does, but if I try to rear up around him he pins his ears back and bares his teeth. Despite this he still runs with me sometimes. We both do laps around our patch of land, me galloping and he cantering. It is almost humbling to know that he slows up for me, but I push this thought aside and just enjoy it. I will soon outrun him once I am strong. After I know of him more, I decide to call him Buddy, just as I hear my spindly call him.   My mother continues to avoid me, despite my pitiful pleas of mercy. But when it is obvious she will have nothing to do with me, another spindly comes and guides her into another patch of land. The spindly doesn’t do it as calmly as mine, for my mother clearly has not learned the proper way to behave around them. Distanced from my own little world, I had never noticed it, nor the other horses inhabiting it. But mother seems happy to be with the other horses, much happier than with me. I resent her for her betrayal, even it was the spindly who moved her. It was her actions that separated us; I don’t know why she still thinks I am too good for her. I promise myself that I will forget her, her and her betrayal to me. Despite my vow, I find myself staring at her from her old home.  

 

  My spindly comes every day many times, and with each visit a meal is brought with it. On almost every visit it makes I learn something new about my spindly. Within the first two days I acquire some useful information. 1. My spindly is male. 2. The other spindlies call him Kade. I decide to call him this as well. 3. He is the only one willing to feed me. 4. The language he uses to communicate is unlike any I’ve heard before; strings of noise and sounds changing almost all the time. It is difficult to listen to and makes my brain hurt, so I tend to ignore it. Kade’s whistle is all I need. 5. His mane reminds me of the stacks of yellow stuff that sometimes appeared in the other lands.   When Kade visits with my meal, I find myself more attracted to him each day, even more to him than Buddy. As I feed, he caresses me and often speaks to me.  

 

  “That tastes good, huh boy? That’s right. Drink up.” I don’t understand what he says, but his voice is comforting, so I bear with the sense of incomprehension. I begin to wonder if this is what my mother would sound like if it were her caring for me instead of Kade. But I shake the thought from my head; I vowed not to think of her. So instead, I drink in both the milk and the love emitting from Kade. Life isn’t quite so hard as I laid it out to be. 　       　  

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Previous Page

1 2