[teresa8oats]

River Song
#830609

Name: Up in the air
Age: 8
Breed: Mustang
Color: Mulberry Grey
Gender: Mare
Markings: none
Height: 13.3hh
Vice/Fear/Special: This mare refuses to let anyone touch any of her legs. She is fine when you touch any other part of her body, but if her legs are touched she has panic attacks.

[River Song]

By River Song


Day One

The air was warm against my skin as I pulled on my boots. I glance out the front door, the landscape of Wyoming unfamiliar. My name is Savannah Grey, and I flew from Canada two weeks ago. I hear that CWHR would be hosting this year’s MM here, so I quickly bought a plane ticket to Wyoming, and arranged for my other horses, Tula, Smoke and Nala to be taken here as well. I can see them grazing in the paddock, and for a moment I am lost in the grace and beauty of these animals. I step outside, and the horses make their way towards me. I near the fence, fence, reaching out my hand, smiling as Tula presses up her nose against it. Smoke nudged at me as well, and I laughed. “Hey now.” I reached a hand into my pocket, feeling around until it produces three horse treats. I give one to each of the horses, enjoying the crunching sound of their teeth. I remember how once, my sister and I had decided it would be a good idea to eat horse treats. We read over the ingredients and only later found the part saying ‘not suitable for human consumption’. I understand why horses enjoy them. Tula rubs her head against my hand again, and I lightly push it away. “Greedy girl!” I laugh, smiling to myself. “Hey, Smokie-boy, hey Tula, you will get a new barn mate today. Hopefully you’re nice to them, and you guys get along well!”

Smoke tosses his head, as if to say “Of course we will be nice. what do you take us for, savages?” I wonder at the way these two seem to understand each word I say. With a quick goodbye, I head to the barn to fix up a stall for the horse I need to pick up at noon. Upon opening the heavy wooden doors, I am shocked to see Kip, my one year old German Shepherd - Red Heeler mix bound up from napping on the straw in the corner.

“Hey boy.” I rub in between his ears, watching his fluffy tail wag like a flag in a storm. I turn to one of the largest stall in this rented barn and grabbing a pitchfork, begin working. I scatter straw over the wooden floor, sighing as Kip jumps into it, shoving large amounts out the entrance. I pick up the squirming puppy, placing him in a different stall and closing the door. I feel bad about this, yet the ball of fur is really quite annoying at times. I sing softly to myself as I work, and soon find the stall ready. I then turn to a small pasture, one of the ones I have rented. The process is long and hard, picking up sharp stones that might hurt a horse’s frog, digging up potentially harmful weeds, and making sure the fence is horse proof. I have already checked over it, yet I want to be sure everything is perfect. A glance at my watch tells me I must leave soon, and after freeing Kip from the confinements of the barn and instead letting him follow me, I head to the beaten up dark blue Toyota truck with a gleaming horse trailer hitched behind. Kip clambers into the car, panting loudly. I follow him, and soon the engine turns over, and we’re off.


When I first see her, I am awestruck. She holds herself with a defiant stature, her mane falling over her dark eyes. It is those same eyes she fixes on me, a look of interesting bubbling to the surface. She turns her ears toward me, holding me in that gaze, studying me. Kip jumps up, and she flicks her ears back as the pup bounces towards her. She lets out a snort of warning as I hurry to grab Kip by the collar. “Sit.” I command him, and he reluctantly does. I turn back to the mare in front of me, gently holding the halter in my hand forward. She eyes me as I step close, yet does not shy away. Her breath tickles my skin as she sniffs the blue rope in my hand, and she allows me to slip it over her head. “Good girl.” I murmur, smiling at her. The walk to the trailer is short, and my mare enters with not much of a fuss. It is only when I go to close the door she panics, yet reassuring words calm her. I can hear her whinny as the engine roars to life, and each time we hit a bump she snorts or neighs. Kip looks back at each neigh, sometimes responding with a bark or whine of his own. I rub him on the head, letting the road stretch out before me, smiling at the thought of training my new horse.


/ What is Known So Far /


Mare

13.3 hands

Mustang

Mulberry Grey

Chestnut mane/tail

Dislikes being in horse trailers. Generally laid back, unknown how she reacts to other horses. Dislikes Kip.

Estimated to be eight years old.


She whinnies again as the trailer is opened and quickly backs out into the pasture. She gives a loud whicker, turning to glare at the fences surrounding her. With a snort, she trots to the edge of the pasture, gives a toss of her chestnut mane and turns to face the rolling desert of Wyoming. She gives a longing nicker, and then begins to pace. Tula trots over, reaching her head towards the mare. She gives a whicker, her grey mane flopping over one of her eyes. The mare reaches her slender neck forwards, blowing air down Tula’s nose. I watch them for awhile, considering reorganizing my paddocks. I see a flash of tan-brown fur, charging towards my mare, and before I can stop Kip, he leaps at her. His sheepdog instincts kick in, and he circles the mustang, driving her towards me. When she tries to turn away, he nips at the back of her heels. She lets out a whinny of protest, yet Kip snaps at her again, and the grey horse breaks into a full gallop, churning up dust behind her. I direct a sharp shout at Kip, and he whines, as if he is asking what he did wrong. I grab his collar, dragging him back to the inside of the house. He whines again as I shut the heavy oak door. I look at the watch Quetzal got for me, thinking of my sister for the second time that day. It is 4:49, in around 40 minutes I should feed my horses, but for now I will introduce my mustang to Nala.


I enter her pasture, and Nala trots over, whickering a greeting. I rub her head, smiling as she nudges the halter in my hand. I slip it around her head, and lead her out of the paddock. The walk to my mares pasture is short, and I find her standing, staring towards the wilderness.
“Hey girl.” The moment I say that, I realize that she needs a name. She whickers at Nala, and I carefully open the pasture’s gate. I lead Nala in, watching as she and my mare greet each other, ready to intervene if things turn sour. However, the two quickly bond, and I watch in wonder as Nala prances around the paddock, letting the mustang almost catch up to her, and then breaking out into a short gallop. I am reminded of two children in a game of tag, half wanting to be caught, and half running for their lives. Eventually, the two settle down and a glance at my watch tells me it is time to restock their hay, water, and clean the paddocks,


When I finish that job, I am drenched with sweat. Not only did I clean three paddocks, I also needed to clean the stalls that Kip had gotten into. He is usually a much better dog, but since we got to Wyoming he has been acting a bit funny. I took him to the vet to check he wasn’t seriously sick, and he is probably just not good at travelling. Poor bud. By the time I finish dinner, it is almost nine, and I prepare to move my horses to the barn. First is Smoke, then Nala, who objects to having the mud brushed off of her, Tula, bouncing like the filly she is at heart and lastly the mustang. I run a brush over the well-muscled build, shocked at her calmness. I gently brush lower on her body, yet the moment I reach her legs she whinnies, backing away. An image flashes in my head of Kip, nipping at her heels, and my mustang fleeing, breakneck speed. “You don’t like having your legs touched, do you?” To test my theory, I reach out, gently running my hand over her lower leg. She skitters backwards, and I make a mental note of this. I gently lead her to her stall, watching the careful placement of her hooves. She probably would be good at (western sport here), but that depends on her willingness to learn. As I close the stall door, the grey mare whinnies. Tula nickers a response, pushing her head over the stall’s door. I smile at her, feeling a wave of weariness wash over me. I can barely stifle a yawn as I close the heavy doors of the barn. “Night Tula, night Nala, night Smokie, night girl.”

[River Song]

Day 2

“I’ve been up in the air, out of my head.”


At 5:30 I awake to Thirty Seconds to Mars’ Up in the Air. In my early morning stupor, one thought registers with me. My mare. The next line of the song rings out.


“Stuck in a moment of emotion” Moment. I see an image of the defiant gaze of the mustang when I first saw her, the way a slight breeze ruffled her tawny mane, how she stared out across the Wyoming deserts, the world beyond, her stunning beauty in the hot desert sun. Moment describes her perfectly. As the song draws to an end, I turn off my alarm clock, moaning as I roll off the bed. I question why I get up so early until I see my horses. Smoke nickers at me, and as I begin turning the horses out into their pastures, I look towards my mustang, trying her new name out.


“Moment!” Her ears flick towards me, yet she still stands stoically, eyes dark pools that reflect the desert. he snorts, breaking into an anxious trot at the edge of the fence. After a few long minutes of this, I click my tongue at her. She slows, ears pivoting to face me. “Hey girl…” my voice trails off, yet Moment turns towards me. She walks over, each hoof placed with great care. She stops short a foot from the fence and exhales loudly, a sound that almost resembles a sigh.

[River Song]

Day 7

A week has passed since getting Moment and she and I are making progress. I have been able to saddle her, yet she refuses the bridle. I walk over to her pasture, tack in hand, and gently approach her. I let her sniff over her bridle, letting her know that it won’t hurt her. Suddenly, her ears shoot back and she whinnies, a clear, shrill sound. She canters to the edge of her pasture as another whinny answers her own. The mare tosses her head, mane whipping around her face. Another neigh rings out and she replies. It sounds so sinister, so haunting. A mournful cry of what could have bene. A call of freedom. That’s when I see it. In the distance, a cloud of dust rises, trailing the wild mustangs. They thunder forward, necks gracefully curved. Somewhere, a hawk cries, its call nearly drowned out by the pounding of hooves. Moment runs up against the fence, slamming with all her might against the wooden supports. The herd pauses, nickering to the imprisoned mare. One horse, a blood bay, raises her head, her eyes glaring into mine. She snorts, pawing the ground and with a flick of her dark tail, she and her herd depart. Moment reaches out her head over the fence, a low whicker escaping. She calls to the horses of the wind.


That night I dream of horses. They charge towards me, eyes flashing. Their hooves collide with the ground, sparks flying with the impact. They get closer and closer, and I gradually see that the horse leading the charge is a blood bay. Her eyes radiate hate. At the last moment, the herd turns right, their sides so close I could reach out and touch them. I feel compelled to follow, yet when I look in their direction all I see is a wooden fence and a cloud of dust fading into the Wyoming night. “Wait!” I call, yet the herd surges forward, leaving me in a wooden cage.

[River Song]

Day 8

By River Song

Dawn greets me with bright sun streaming through the curtains and chirping birds, which would almost be picturesque if it wasn’t for my brown hair in a tangled knot and bags under my eyes from a night strewn with nightmares. I stretch, a yawn escaping my lips. I pull on a pair of worn out jeans and a loose shirt before heading out to the pasture. Smoke trots toward me, and Kip yips, running around him and Tula. I call Kip toward me, attaching a leash to the dog’s collar. He whines and I rub his head, looping the leash around one of the wooden posts on Nala’s pasture. I turn to head towards Moment in her pasture on the far side of the ranch space.


She stands dejectedly in the centre of the fence, and barely flicks her ears when I call her name. Fresh hoof prints lead around her corral, the wild horses must have come again. I vault over the fence, yet when I reach out to touch Moment she snorts, trotting to the other side of the corral. “Moment.” I call again, softly, hoping that she will respond. Nothing. I walk over to her trough and refill the water, and she walks over slowly, lapping the liquid. I touch her neck, and she ignores me. Is she angry? I ask myself, thinking about how it must feel to be stuck in here, all alone, with only the vast Wyoming desert as company.

“I’m sorry girl….” I sigh, rubbing her neck. She whickers, turning her head to face me. I wrap my arms around her neck, holding her in a hug. She rests her head lightly on my shoulder, and I smile. There is such thing as forgiveness in this world. Moment nibbles on my hair, and I laugh, flicking it away from her. Suddenly, she breaks into a trot, pulling away from me. After a few paces, she looks back at me. I step forward, and she continues trotting again. I jog after her, as she picks up speed galloping around the corral. I race forward, patting her on the shoulder. She turns around to face me, nudging me with her slender nose. I smile, running a few cautionary paces way. She follows, close on my heels, and for a few minutes we are just two children suspended in a game of tag. Eventually, I flop into the dust, exhausted. She whickers, pushing her dark nose at my face and I smile. These few minutes have been the closest I have gotten with Moment on an emotional level. I stand, clamber over the fence and head to the tack room to get a halter. I select a red one hanging from one of the highest pegs, and I head back to the pasture, where Moment whinnies a greeting. She watches skeptically as I approach, yet allows the halter to be slipped over her head.

“Good girl.” I reward her with a slice of apple, which she crunches contentedly as I attach a lead rope to her halter. today I’m working on her leg shyness, hoping I can aid her confidence with having her legs both groomed and touched. I start by gently taking a soft rope, letting her sniff over it, and then rubbing down her body and onto her leg. Although all the other times we have tried this she has bolted, today is different. She accepts this, although her ears flick back. With a twelve foot lead on her halter, and a twenty two foot lead looped around her leg, I can keep a safe distance from her hooves and in the worst case, let go of the ropes. I begin to lead her forward with the rope on her halter, and although she keeps her ears pinned she slowly advances. Next I properly attach the rope to her foot by looping it through the ring at the end of the lead. I begin to slowly increase the tension on the ropes, asking Moment to yield to the pressure and step forward. I hold the rope tightly enough to keep her foot off the ground, yet make sure she can still pull back without feeling trapped or giving me rope burn. I keep a constant pressure, not pulling on her leg but just holding it there. The moment she realized I was asking for more than just holding her leg there, Moment pulled it up closer to her body. I keep the rope loose, not wanting the mare to feel trapped or become more afraid of the process then before we started. She slams her hoof into the ground as if to say

[River Song]

Day 10

By Icesong

“Moment!” My voice is loud and shrill, panic rising in my throat as I rush to her pasture. The wild horses have come and left again, yet this time, something is different. Because this time, Moment left with them.

The mare, no longer being able to stand the confines of the pasture must have jumped the fence. I silently curse myself as I dash inside to make some calls. The first goes to the BLM, where an officer with a bored voice asks many questions about what Moment looks like. I answer in as much detail as I can, and I want so badly to talk about the way she stares at little things, about how she seems to love the way the grains of sand feel under her hooves, about the way she responds to speech as if she understands it, and how I want, no, I need to see her again, yet I know that he won’t care. The next call goes to Quetzal, my older sister and owner of Silent Forest Stud. I explain what happened, and her soft voice and quiet words are of a great comfort to me as she explains what to do. The last call goes to Marco, a stable hand back at TVR. I break into hysterics about halfway through our conversation, blubbering and weeping until Marco yells at me to focus. Hey says he will get a ticket out to Wyoming as soon as possible, and I thank him, knowing his presence will help. I turn on the kettle, before heading out to check on the other horses. Nala trots around her pasture, ears flicking back and forward the whites of her eyes showing. She dislikes strange horses, especially large groups of them. I calm her, knowing I may need to ride her later today. Next I head to Tula and Smokie’s pasture, and at first glance, all is well. Yet as I look closer, I see that something silver shines on Tula’s hoof. A horse shoe. She must have thrown it when the mustangs came. I rush over to her, and to my horror, she has stepped on it again, so that the nail digs into the sensitive part of her foot. Depending on how deep the nail has gone, she may have trouble walking ever again.

I rush inside, call the vet and farrier then pour myself a cup of coffee. The bitter taste burns my mouth, yet I know that to stay focused I will need caffeine. I repress a yawn, instead making an odd squeak. Focus. I tell myself. Focus. The word swims in my head like a fish trapped in a bowl, round and round and- I shake myself out of the thoughts. I stand abruptly, chair screeching on the cheap linoleum flooring. Outside the window, a van labeled “Farrier” pulls up. A lady steps out, and the vet arrives soon after. They introduce themselves, and I take them to Tula’s pasture. She stands, ears back against her head. I call her, and she flicks her ears swiftly towards me. I attach a halter and lead to her as the farrier approaches.

“Tula…” The farrier lifts her hoof and Dr. Lucas comes closer, examining the wound. The farrier gently pulls on the nail, dislodging it from Tula’s foot, yet before it is fully off, the mare steps back down. I can see the nail twisting under her foot and pray it has not gone deeper. The farrier quickly grabs up her foot, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The nail has fallen out and twisted away from the sensitive part of the hoof. The farrier reattaches the shoe as Dr. Lucas hands me a bottle of disinfectant “to be applied twice daily” and bandages Tula’s hoof “to stop infections”. I thank them both, pay them, and before they go tell them about the missing mare. They say they will look for her, and I smile. Now that the problem with Tula is over, I can begin the search.


The afternoon sun shines bright and hot, as Kip bounds in front of Nala and me. He suddenly stops and whines, tail dropping. We are all tired. It has been five hours of searching for Moment, and we have had no luck. Wyoming is like a void, swallowing everything in its path. We walk a few more paces before Kip stops again. I try to pull him on, yet he plants his paws, straining against the leash. When I give him some slack, he runs over to a bush, whining again. Has he found a trace of Moment? He shoves his narrow head into the bush and a muffled bark escapes. I dismount, still holding Nala’s lead, and head over to investigate. At first, it appears that there is nothing in the tangle of leaves, yet as I look closer, I see a grey scrap of fur. It is too long to be Moment’s, and it is lighter in colour, yet I pick it up. To my surprise, it squirms as I move it, and under the fur I can feel bones. Looking at it closely, I can see four legs, large paws, a small tail, and a head comically big for its body. Kip wags his tail at the puppy, play bowing. It blinks at me with one blue and one brown eye, and I smile. I pour a bit of water into my hands, and a pink tongue laps at it eagerly. I wonder how to carry the little scrap home when Nala nudges me with her soft nose. I turn to face her and my eyes come to rest on the saddlebags. Carrying the pup in them probably wouldn’t work, but I commonly carry an assortment of lead ropes and other bags. I could probably make a makeshift sling for the little pup.


After many tests of trial and error, I have what looks like a harness for humans with the small puppy suspended from my chest. She takes in the world as we ride with those wide eyes, tail wagging wildly. Her floppy ears blow out behind her as Nala thunders onwards. As the wind whips at my air, I am able to forget my problems for a moment. Kip leaps forwards, brown and white fur swirling around him as his paws thud the dry ground. He wags his tail as a mouse scurries away from his paws. I call him back, laughing at his puppy antics as we begin the journey home.

[River Song]

Day 13

The phone rings loud and clear. It has been three days since Moment disappeared and I am losing hope. Dark bags sit under my eyes and my brown hair hangs limply. Stress is gnawing at my brain like a dog on a bone, and it is visibly taking a toll. The phone rings again, and I reluctantly answer it.

“Savannah speaking, who is calling please?” A cheerful voice responds. Marco. He has been here for two days and us currently looking for Moment with Smoke.

“Sav, I’ve got great news!”

“What Marco?”
“Someone spotted Moment!” The words echo in my skull like a bell
“Where?”

“By the old mill, they said she was with a herd of mustangs. Apparently there was a stunning blood bay leading them!” I freeze. The horse from my nightmare. She was the one who took Moment. I stand up abruptly, the small pup on my lap sliding to the ground. She looks up at me with her big eyes and I scoop her up.

“Marco, I’m heading to the mill. I have to find Moment.”


Determination surges through me as my truck roars to life. The pup, dubbed Misty, curls in my lap. Behind the truck is my trailer, where Nala stands. Soon, the old grain mill looms before us and fresh hoof-prints surround it. I mount Nala, pull Misty onto my lap, and begin to ride. The mare’s hooves thunder below me, and I press her on. The desert seems endless, and the hoof-prints continue a fair way into the distance. The only thing we can do is follow them.


About an hour has passed when I see a flash of grey in the bush. Moment. Her chestnut mane falls over one of her eyes, and a wave of relief washes over me. It is short lived. As I approach, I can see something is wrong. The mare is straining against something, frantically pulling at her back leg. “Moment!” I call softly, and she looks up at me, panic in her brown eyes.

‘Help me.’ They seem to cry. ‘Please, help me.’ I carefully approach her and Moment flicks her ears back before whickering softly. Misty pads over, looking at Moment with her big eyes. To my surprise the mare does not shy away from the pup, and instead lowers her head, sniffing the dog. I walk around behind her, speaking gently. Something thin and silver cuts into her left ankle and I gasp. A snare. What kind of monster would do this to an animal? I pull out my phone to contact the vet and Marco, but there is no signal. “Darn it!” I curse. I don’t want to mess with the snare, if I do something wrong it may have serious consequences. I will have to think. I could loosen the snare, yet I risk cutting myself or worsening the wound. I could ride into the cell zone and call the vet, yet Moment may try to follow, hurting herself. I could cut the snare off, yet as Moment struggles it may harm her. My best bet is to leave the snare on, yet cut it off at the base where it is attached to the ground. I rummage through the tack bag beside Nala, removing a halter, lead rope, and a pair of scissors. Moment is still sniffing at Misty, yet I lift her head, slipping the red halter over her. I clip the lead rope on and tie it to a nearby tree so Moment will not be able to run away. I snip the wire, and carefully wrap Moment’s ankle in some left over bandages from Tula’s foot. Moment whickers, nudging Misty with her nose. I scoop the pup up, untie Moment and begin the journey home.


Moment limps slowly behind us, favouring the bandaged leg. Misty follows her - the two seem to get along strangely well. Every now and again, I pull out my phone to check if there is a signal and this time I check there is. I phone Dr. Lucas and he says he will come right away.


I stand with Moment, keeping her stull as the doctor arrives. He rides a steely grey draft horse who flicks and tosses a lighter mane. I wave him over, and he slows his stallion before dismounting. He goes to Moment and attempts lifting her leg but she kicks back at the doctor, fury in her eye. He scurries backwards. This will be hard. “Hey girl…” I speak gently, hoping to soothe the mare. Misty nudges my leg and I smile, an idea coming to my head. I pick up the pup and let Moment sniff over her, and then carefully tell the vet “She should, well might, be fine now.” He gives me a questioning glance and I nod. “It has worked before.” I am referring to the time I had to cut the snare before getting Moment here. This time, the doctor lifts her hoof without her resisting.


He unwraps the bandage, examining the snare carefully. He pulls out a pair of gloves and miniature scissors, cutting away the wire. It falls to the ground, glinting evilly in the sun. He picks it up, placing it in a small bag and tucking it away. He pulls out a needle to numb that section of Moment’s leg. She flinches away, stepping forwards before realizing she can no longer feel her back leg. Almost instantly, her eyes roll back, ears pin and she stumbles. I hurry to support her, knowing she is going to panic. The mare charges against her lead, straining to escape. Her hooves are a blur, eyes flashing white. She neighs, teeth white and vicious. She limps around terror making her run but her ailments making it impossible to. We are in the middle of Wyoming, a place where if Moment escapes again we will never find her. Our best bet now would be to lead her all the way back to the trailer, drive her to the vet’s office, and sedate her before giving her stitches. So now, with the limping Moment painstakingly slow, we begin the journey back.


Our next problem comes from getting Moment in the trailer. She plants her hooves, refusing to move. After half an hour, we give up and instead lead Nala and Noix, the doctor’s horse, into their respectable places. Surprisingly, once Nala steps inside, Moment stumbles forwards, entering the trailer. The truck roars to life as we head for the vets.

[River Song]

Day 14

Moment stands in the pasture with Tula, nuzzling her friend. They both have thick bandages over their legs, yet they currently don’t seem to bother them. The mustang needed stitches from the snare, yet she is currently healing well. None of the damage on either of these horses was permanent, for which I am very grateful. It seems the Fates are with me. I watch as Nala trots over, whickering softly. It was arco who suggested that maybe Moment was lonely, and it seems true. Although the wild horses have come again, now that Moment has a small herd here, she seems to no longer yearn to go with the others. It’s interesting. She seems to be happy with these other horses, even if she has only known them for a short period of time.

Tomorrow, I will be going to get more horses to join the small herd. For now, I pick up the bucket of oats and go to feed the darling horses who have a giant piece of my heart.

[River Song]

Day 15

By River Song

The auction house is a dismal place, with cramped walls and only a few dim lights hanging from a caving in ceiling. Marco learnt about this place on his search for Moment, some old man at the gas station mentioned she may have been taken here and sold for slaughter. I seem to be the only female in here, and the feeling is unsettling. Marco sits besides me, his shock of orange hair like a beacon even in the dim lighting. The auctioneer leads the first horse on, a swaybacked appaloosa. She walks with a limp in her back leg, and a small circle of wire encircles it. A snare. Moment could have easily taken the place of this mare. The bids go in, and she is sold to the “Man in the tan jacket!” Next, a beautiful Teke is led on, his face marked like a badgers. I can’t resist him, and I bid.

“150 dollars! Any more? Going in three, two, o-”

“200 dollars! Do we have 250?”

I bid, and the words hang in my ears.

“Sold to the lady on the right!”

He is mine.


I end up coming out of the auction with two horses, a lovely Hyrule Gypsy named Lilith, and the Teke, named Miles. They both seem relieved to get out of the cramped stalls that they were being kept in, and quickly run into the trailer. From the short walk, I can tell they are both well trained. By the time we get back to the rented ranch, they seem restless. Marco leaps out of the car to assist them, and the two horses are lead into the pasture. Moment sniffs over them both, and then trots back to the other horses. They frolic, playing what appears to be tag, and Marco and I laugh at their foal like behavior. I go to restock the food and water, happy with the new members of TVR.

[River Song]

Day 16

Moment flicks her chestnut tail, whinnying loudly as I approach. I smile at the mare, and she stamps her hoof, pushing at my arm with her head. I show her the halter in my hand, and she gently nibbles it. I briefly question what she is doing before slipping it over her head. A sheet of plastic lies on the ground in front of us, and Moment’s goal is to walk over it. I can’t do any heavy training due to Moments hoof, but simple tasks are doable. I clip the lead rope to her halter, walk over the plastic myself, and urge her to follow. She steps forward, yet when the plastic under her foot rustles, she freezes.I click softly, and another step goes forward. I start talking, and until I stop, the mare walks. I smile. She and I are very close now, ever since my rescuing of her from the snare. I can see just how loyal she is, the deep trust that runs through both of us. She trots over the sheet, bumping me with her head again when she reaches me. I smile, thinking of the competition on the 30th. I know we can do this.