Chapter 8
Between heartbeats, the dark form leaps from the darkness! It clamps onto my back leg, rips through flesh and muscle! Teeth grind against bone. I scream and kick but the weight is too much to loosen.
Pure survival instinct shoved me back into my own body and I found myself waking in the chair near the window. I was human, not horse. I wasn’t out there in the cold, being torn apart by a monster.
The beast jerks me backwards, away from my herd. Each split second is an eternity as my family mills about in front of me, not sure yet what’s happening. I scream again.
I tried to force the searing pain to the back of my mind, but it fought my control. And then, when I succeeded just a bit, all I did was open myself to the emotions of the other mustangs. They watched, frozen for an instant, as the dark form slashed at Twilight. The smell of blood assaulted them. Moonlight shone on stained canine teeth. Then Twilight screamed again and I was back with her, feeling every spasm of terror.
I lurched to the door and despite the pain that radiated through my body, somehow pulled my ski pants and winter coat on overtop of my flannel pajamas.
Poor Twilight! I had to save her!
That’s when the rage struck me. Night Hawk’s fury. Wind Dancer’s ferocious anger.
Loonie whined when I flung the door open and staggered outside. “Stay,” I managed before closing the door as quietly as I could in her face.
Rusty? I thought, like a mind-wail.
What wrong? asked Rusty, totally reading my panic.
Twilight is being attacked.
Night Hawk struck and the dark shadow released Twilight. A moment later, Wind Dancer and Night Hawk were chasing the predator with snapping teeth and striking hooves.
Rusty was leaning against his stall door when I entered the barn and limped toward him. The alarm was over, though Wind Dancer and Night Hawk’s anger still buzzed through my head and my body radiated with Twilight’s pain and fear and shock.
Shaking like crazy, I opened the stall door and tried to jump on Rusty’s back. But I couldn’t do it. My leg had no strength with Twilight’s pain infiltrating muscle and bone. I leaned against his side to catch my breath. If only I could block out the agony. If only I could control it. I was about to try leaping to Rusty’s back again when I remembered that we had an ancient yearling halter in the tack room and limped off.
When I came out, Rusty was gone. I swung toward the barn door. I’d left it open! Did he leave without me? I stumbled toward the door, the halter and lead rope swinging wildly in my hand.
Rusty!
An image of the woodpile jumped into my head. I emerged from the barn to see him standing beside the chopping block, pawing the ground impatiently. I pulled my weight up onto the block and then onto his back, and he sprang into a fast canter. Within seconds, the cabin was out of sight and he was weaving through the dark trees as if he could see every obstacle. I would have slowed him down, but there was nothing I could do or say to make that happen – I hadn’t bridled him – so I just held on, kept low over his back, and prayed that I wouldn’t be knocked into the snow. No matter how rough the ride, we wouldn’t be going far. I’d heard Twilight’s cries clearly and that meant the mustangs weren’t far away.
Rusty slowed to a trot and neighed loudly. A snow-muffled flurry of sound came from in front of us. The herd was running away. Two emotions battled in my heart: relief that they weren’t going to fight me too and a terrible sadness that they thought humans were the worst predators of all. They would face down whatever had attacked Twilight, but humans? Humans were too dangerous.
Something hopped through the snow ahead, a slight form pitching forward again and again, desperately trying to follow the others. Twilight. The filly left dark snow in her wake where her blood marred the pure surface.
Quickly, Rusty moved between her and the departing herd, forcing her to stop. She stared at us, the whites of her eyes bright even in the moon’s shadows. Her horror continued to wash over me in wave after suffocating wave. She was beyond terrified now. To Twilight, we were monsters.
Moving as smoothly and slowly as possible – which wasn’t smooth at all – I slid from Rusty’s back, the yearling halter and rope clutched in my hand. My caution had no effect on Twilight. She tried to spin away, lost her balance, and sprawled on her side in the snow.
Sheer terror lacerated my heart and pain knifed up my leg, almost blinding me with its intensity. I thought I fell to the snow, but wasn’t sure if I actually had or if I was just feeling Twilight’s mindless panic as she tried to regain her footing. Any moment she expected me to jump on her and kill her… any moment… if she could just stand… if she could just run… why was this happening… moments to live…
Then, just as I was about to lose myself to her extreme terror, I somehow picked up the massive boulder that was her shock and pain and panic and aloneness, carried it through the back door of my mind, and firmly shut the door.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. I had fallen. I had been thrashing in the snow. No wonder the poor yearling was so terrified. I’d been acting like a total psycho.
Shakily, I climbed to my feet. I still wasn’t sure how I’d controlled the effects of Twilight’s fear – and now wasn’t the time to figure it out – but still I felt elated. There was a way to control the impressions that came from the horses! I could push them down to a manageable level. Though Twilight’s fear still coursed through my veins, it was a pale shadow of what it had been just moments ago. Now I could approach her like a sane being. Now I could be more to her than a mirror image of her own horror.
I put out my hand and began to speak in a soothing voice.
It didn’t help. Twilight stared at me, still traumatized beyond restraint, and screamed for her dam. An answering neigh, full of heartbreak, came from the darkness, and a wisp of Wind Dancer’s torment touched me. But only a wisp.
Twilight shuddered and her head sank onto the snow. I moved a bit nearer and she didn’t move, so I moved nearer still. Never happy, now I worried about her lack of panic. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything from her. I opened my mind a bit more, searching for her voice. She wasn’t there.
“Twilight?”
A surge of fear and then nothing again.
What’s wrong with her, Rusty?
An image of Twilight huddled in absolute darkness, breathless and still, entered my thoughts. He was saying that she was hiding in her own mind. She was unable to face the terror that was me.
Relief warmed me, but only for a moment. I’d been so afraid that she’d bled to death – an awful lot of the snow around us was dark with her blood. But shock was just as dangerous, especially in this cold. The only difference was that it wouldn’t kill her as fast. Instead of bleeding to death, she’d lie there and freeze. Unless I helped her, she’d soon be dead.
I moved closer. She didn’t even flinch, didn’t even seem to see me. Closer still – and finally, I was two feet away from her. I knelt down and touched her neck.
She pulled away – a good sign. Maybe she wasn’t too far gone.
“Good girl, Twilight,” I murmured. “Good girl. Good girl.” I stroked her neck. She raised her head and I slipped the yearling halter over her nose. When I grabbed the buckle, she jerked back – but I was stronger than she was and held her head in place until the halter was fastened. I was grateful to get it on her quickly. I’d forgotten gloves and my numb hands were weakening fast.
I gave her a quick caress, which she didn’t seem to notice, and stood, shoved one hand in my pocket, and pulled on the lead rope with the other.
“Come on, Twilight. Get up.”
The filly floundered in the snow, attempting to rise and escape me, then fell back. Her injured hind leg wasn’t strong enough to support her weight. She tried again, desperate, and when she couldn’t get to her hooves the second time, she panicked again. She churned the snow, running nowhere, and bleated once, just like a lamb. It was the hardest thing to hear, like
she was crying or something.
There was only one way to help her and all I could do was hope that it wouldn’t send her over the edge of sanity. I wrapped the lead rope around my waist, grabbed the rope in two hands, and pulled back with all my weight and strength. If she would use the rope to brace herself, she might be able to rise to her hooves.
Thankfully, her natural instinct was to pull away from me, and on her third try she almost got her hooves beneath her – but then she pushed too hard, too soon, and went flying onto her side into a fresh bit of snow.
“Come on, Twilight,” I begged, and pulled again to stop her from thrashing. My hands were quickly losing strength, having no protection from the intense cold. I needed to start switching them back and forth between the rope and my pockets to keep them working – but I couldn’t pull hard enough with just one hand.
Talk to her, Rusty suggested. She does not understand.
I released the rope and stuck my hands in my pockets, then drew in a deep breath. Rusty was probably right. Quickly, I formulated a picture in my mind that I hoped she’d understand, of a horse using the leverage of the rope to regain its footing.
“Okay, Twilight, let’s give it a shot.” I tightened the rope – but I couldn’t make myself send the image to her. She’d recognize me as Willow’s killer and would really panic then, I was sure of it. So instead, I pulled with all my remaining strength.
And miraculously, this time she finally clued in to what I was doing! She pulled back on the lead rope, then methodically, purposefully moved her front legs straight out in front of her, and pushed herself to a sitting position.
“Good girl,” I murmured and she glared at me. No kidding. The fear was gone that quick. Now that she knew I wasn’t going to kill her, she was just plain mad. And in pain. I tightened the rope once more, then braced myself and hoped I was strong enough to hold her steady. Twilight knew exactly what to do this time. She leaned against the pressure, straightened her front legs, and pulled her back end up – and she was standing on one back leg!
But that’s where our teamwork ended. Immediately, she lurched to the side and tried to hobble away.
When I stopped her, she staggered one step back, then stood with her injured leg held high. It wasn’t flopping, which seemed a good sign. It may not be broken. Now if only the tendons and muscles weren’t seriously damaged. I needed to find out, and in order to do that, I had to get her back to the barn and get Mom’s help.
Twilight snorted and again tried to escape. This time her attempt was weaker. I really had to get her back to the barn, and soon.
“You can’t go with them. You’ll die if I let you go. Whatever attacked you will come back and kill you.” I pulled gently on the lead rope but she refused to move.
I pulled again, harder, and she stood wavering, still unwilling to give in. Yet. But I knew she would. Soon she’d be too weak to fight.
As if on cue, her head drooped. I pulled hard on the lead rope again and she hopped toward me. I stepped back, and slowly, she followed. Rusty walked behind her, and as we wound our way through the trees, he bumped her occasionally with his nose to keep her moving.
Thankfully, we didn’t have far to walk. I don’t think she could have made it much farther than the few hundred yards we had to travel. As she bobbed along, the poor thing grew sadder and sadder and felt increasingly betrayed, alone, dejected. And angry.
I tried to ignore her rage, but couldn’t push away her anguish and kept brushing frozen tears from my cheeks. I wished I could save her the emotional pain, but how? I was the fiend stealing her away from everything she loved: her family and her home, the wilderness. I was the one robbing her of the joys and sorrows of being free and wild and independent. The bad guy, that was me, even more than the one who tried to eat her.
But soon she’d see I was the one who had saved her. Soon, she’d realize the truth. I hoped so anyway. After all, she was going to be with me for a very long time.