Splarsh

When he ran a hand over the stallion’s fur, he felt a light shake under his skin, as if the horse were shivering with cold as he was. Thomas had spent enough lifetimes in his home country in Scotland to build up a resistance to the humid, piercing cold, but somehow, the thick forests of New England were putting him to the test.

The stallion let out a soft snort, lowering his head in the crossties, and allowing Thomas to pat his strong crest further down.

“So how’s he looking?”

The Irishman turned around to the voice of his wife. He’d travelled a few weeks ahead of her to assess a few potential purchases from the folks at Applewood -the stallion he was surveying at the moment one of them- before the proper festivities and competitions began.

“Look fer yourself. He’s nice looking-” He gently bent one of the palomino stallion’s legs inward, lifting his knee, “-nice moves in him, vet check successful-”

“-and he’s really nicely shaped. What a conformation.” María finished his sentence, crossing her arms to hide her freezing hands. “How old?”

Thomas ignored her question. “Are you cold?”

“I’m dead inside.” She replied as she scrunched her neck into the vest she was wearing like a frightened turtle. “Remind me never to complain about our place again.”

“Why’d you come out of the lounge now? With this weather?”

She snorted. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s people freaking out back at the house.”

“It’s probably because of the storm. Even if it’s already calmed down a bit.” Thomas flinched a bit as he was prodded in the face by the stallion’s soft upper lip. He gave him a few pats on the jaw. “Remember this morning?”

María took a few steps towards the young horse and mimicked the patting motion of her husband. “Goddamn thunder gave me a heart attack.”

“I dunno.” Thomas replied. “Maybe something has gone wrong, with all the rain and the wind.”

“Then we probably sh-”

María was cut short by a sudden burst of voices and the large door of the barn being pushed open. Around six seven people entered at once, not a single one of them less rattled than the next. The group passed by them as if they were simply not there. Both María and Thomas followed them with their gazes, and then looked at each other as the rest walked in further inside the barn.

“...” The spaniard stared in the direction they’d disappeared, into a smaller office. “Did you hear anything?”

“More or less I did. They were talking so fast it’s lost on me.”

The silence in the barn suddenly turned unnerving, even if it was accompanied by the low snorts and distant whinnies of the rest of horses stabled in. As if knowing what that entailed, Thomas turned his head towards María, gave her a long, worried look, and trailed off behind the rest with a few steps.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

“We’ve double and triple checked the whole property and the pastures.”

“We’re gathering as many volunteers as we can. Please, help us find them.”

María’s nerves had started going sharp as knives as she waited for Thomas to return. From her seat in one improvised bench consisting of a few hay bales, she stared back and forth with the palomino stallion still crosstied in front of her, ears dropped and one rear leg cocked. For a second, she wished she could absorb the calm the horse emanated.

It didn’t take more than ten minutes for the irishman to emerge into the barn once again, but his pace was much more urgent this time. María stood up while shaking hay blades off her breeches.

“Not good.”

“Bad news then?”

“Bad news it is.” Thomas rolled his shoulders nervously. “Apparently the weather forecast was busted. Storm wasn’t supposed to roll in until a few days later, and a bunch of pastures were damaged and fencing broken off.”

“Damn.” 

“They were able to pull in a few of the mares, but they’re still missing six horses.”

“What?”

“Three mares and three young foals around two months old.” He rubbed his hands together. “And they’re looking for volunteers to scout the whole area surrounding-”

She cut him off and spoke more to herself. “-those horses could be anywhere.”

For a second, their imaginations ran wild. Combined with a tempest like the one they’d been hit by, the wilderness of New England was practically an accident waiting to happen -especially so for domestic horses, and especially so for mares so recently foaled. Floods, thick forests, mud, bears …

“We should help.” She whispered.

“I thought so myself.” He replied, scanning the barn. “But most of these horses are either off limits or-”

If María’s nerves were spiked before, by now she felt like being stabbed from the inside out. Her mind started to swirl dangerously, until she felt the warm hand of her husband on her shoulder.

“Darling. You were eyeing another horse to buy, right?”

“What? Yes, but-”

He was right. There was another sale prospect they’d kept in their mind. A mare, grey and slender and rather short in size, but still a good opportunity.

Surely he wasn’t thinking of…

“Thomas.” She blurted out in a tone more chastising than she’d pretended, “We didn’t bring anything to actually ride.”

The smile that had formed on his face, however -a smile indicative of how good of an idea he’d thought he’d had-, told María they were in for a cold, wet ride.

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Ignore it. Ignore it and focus, Thomas repeated to himself as he squiggled on top of the stallion, fighting the awful sensation of wet jeans on wet horseback. He needed to stay calm in order to fiddle with the reins, the young energetic stallion he was riding and the phone that kept the location of the riding center saved. The last thing he needed was to get lost and become a horrifying hybrid of a forest nymph and a hermit. If he survived the cold, that is.

The stallion snorted, leaving a cloud of breath behind him as he calmly trodded outside the path and stepped on a steady bed of wildflowers, plants and crunchy wet-dry leaves. As he moved with the rhythm the horse set, Thomas looked around, nervous, wondering if María and the slate mare would be okay.

Of course they would. He needed to focus, he repeated again, vocalizing it this time. The stallion flicked his ears backwards as he heard his words, and squealed as if agreeing.

He knew what he was looking for- a ravine, a forest leveled down by the wind, or a flooded river. At least ten minutes passed by, switching from patting the horse’s neck, wriggling his fingers whenever they went red with the cold, and cringing to the feeling of the humidity all around and on him, before a distant sound reached him.

Water.

“Aight pretty lad.” Thomas whispered as he turned the reins with a steady hand. “Let’s go take a look.”

In a few more minutes, both of them found themselves in a clear section of the valley, split in two by a stream. The only thing out of place, however, was the fury with which the stream had turned into a torrent, waves clashing against the rocks and themselves, current fast. The then distant sound had turned into a loud rumble. As the Irishman slowed the palomino stallion down to a halt, he took in his surroundings.

The valley was vast. It appeared painted in tones of green, red and yellow, colors dulled down by the heavily overcast weather. That should help slightly, he thought, as it would make a horse stand out much more between the greyed scenery.

He led the stallion around the area, careful not to approach the flooded stream. He’d expected the stallion to bolt, flinch or rear, but the young animal behaved as if nothing was happening. Thank the gods for a good bombproof horse. 

A frustrated sigh escaped him as he stopped him in his tracks once again.

It would be good to consider leaving and moving on to whatever was lurking in the forests around him. It made most sense to him: there were no mare or foal to be seen around the waters, and no sane mare would ever cross a river with a baby at her side-

His chain of thought stopped as it clicked. 

He saw it, almost concealed by the foam of the waves- a small creature, barely standing in between a few boulders. And when Thomas saw the foal, he saw the mare, fidgeting inside the water and around her baby.

He couldn’t believe it.

After stalling for a few seconds, Thomas urged the stallion forward as he broke into an urgent canter towards the water. As they approached the shore, the sounds of the current had become deafening, which made the horse hesitate on the slippery pebbles. Calm down. Calm down. Thomas’ eyes were fixated on the baby, which didn’t seem to leave the rocks no matter what.

“Come on. Come on.” He gave the stallion a nervous pat on the flank. “If we manage this, yer coming home to Scotland with me.”

Thomas spat out a short gaelic prayer at light speed, then urged the stallion forward. With a few more tumbly steps over the pebbles, the horse splashed right into the water. The current was more violent on top, and the water wouldn’t reach further up than the horses’ chest. Good.

Slowly, they approached, Thomas crouched forward, almost grabbing onto the stallion’s neck. He hoped to all that was holy that they wouldn’t spook and try and leave.

He realised then that it wouldn’t be possible, as the foal stumbled in between the rocks with a raised leg. Gods damn it all, was it injured?

As if he’d caught on to the situation, the stallion rushed in with more strength and his head raised high over the water crashing against his chest. As soon as he was close enough, Thomas held himself against a rock, never dismounting and holding on with his thighs. With a quick glance, he could confirm one of the baby’s hocks was raised high, his other legs bent against the wet surface. He didn’t hesitate once- he launched himself to one side and grabbed onto the foal, which squealed like a captured mouse.

The next seconds were a blur. A distortion of the deafening roar of the water, the stabbing pain in his legs from holding on for his life, the stiffening in his body from the cold and his aching fingers, trying not to lose his grip on the foal, which understandably kicked and whinnied in his arms. Thomas could only pray that the spotty mother had decided to follow them, and that the young stallion wouldn’t fail him. Then more water, splashing against his sides, his face. He flinched and closed his right eye when one of the foal’s knees came flying and smacked him on the cheek.

When Thomas felt the pull of gravity on his body, he could only imagine they were out of the water. The palomino pushed with might, launching himself, his rider and impromptu passenger out of the stream and the current. The Irishman gasped and took a deep breath, sliding off of the stallion and falling to the ground on his side- never letting go of the foal.

His arms went limp as he fell on his back. The foal struggled, and seemed to return to the shore only to reunite with his mother, who had indeed followed. Thomas breathed in and out, the cold snap of the air he inhaled piercing his lungs and his strained muscles.

He could only hope María was having an easier time.

1966 Words