Raychel closed the door on the navy blue Ford truck, smiling to herself. As she exited the parking lot, which seemed overstuffed with cars, trailers and neighing equines, she took a deep breath, inhaling the wonderful smell of horses. She couldn't help a bounce of excitement that put a new spring in her step as she half-walked, half-ran to the canopy clearly marked 'Mustang Makeover Sign-Ins'. Today was the big day. At last, Raychel would be getting her very own horse, and a wild mustang at that.
As she ducked under the dusty yellow cover, she noticed the corrals not far beyond it, and another spike of excitement shot through her, her heart pounding faster than ever. Before long, she realized she was simply standing there with glazed eyes and a dazed smile, and she rapidly shook herself and with a friendly grin strode towards the table full of volunteers and sign-up sheets.
"Hello," a cheerful-looking young woman greeted her as Raychel moved towards her station. "Welcome to the Mustang Makeover event! Name, please?"
"Ray-Raychel Atwood," she stammered out, still with a nervous smile.
"Raychel Atwood?" echoed the woman, then pulled out a rather thick bundle of papers, shuffling through them until she stumbled upon the name. "Raychel Atwood, horse number three-four-six-four," she read aloud, then winked. "He's one of my favorites. Good luck."
Raychel nodded, offered a "thank-you," and was out of there in a flash, excitement once more overcoming her nerves.
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She strolled down the aisles of corrals, looking at each gate's number sequence carefully. After a good long while, she found her label: Mustangs #3400-3500. With another skip of excitement, she went over to the man in a large cowboy hat who was leaning casually on the red metal fence. "Need something?" he asked her casually, with a teasing grin. "Your mustang, perhaps?"
Breathless, Raychel nodded. "Yeah. Number 3464?"
"Ahh," the man replied, grinning. "That one. He's a beauty, for sure. Needs a gentle hand, though." He grimaced. "It'll be tough taking him away from his pen buddies- he gets real attached to other horses. Yup, real herd-dependent lil' mustang if I ever saw one. You got any horses at home?"
"N-no," she stammered out, flustered. "But I have one on the way, a claybank dun mare. She's beautiful," she added dreamily, smiling. "Her name is Frag Bomb."
"W'all," the man informed her, "you best hope she arrives soon, else you'll have a mighty sad horse on your hands. Joe! Donny!" he called out. "Go an' get us horse Three-Four-Six-Four, stat!"
In no time at all the two young men, in equally extravagant cowboy hats, had with expert hands wrangled a beautiful paint horse. Squinting as she tried to make out his coloring, Raychel confirmed to the man, "He's a gelding?"
"Yup," he agreed.
As soon as he was close, Raychel could tell that he was a flaxen chestnut, with dapples that shone light on his back, and a gorgeous splash of white over his shoulders and on his legs. "He's gorgeous," she murmured, never removing her eyes from him.
"Ayuh, that's for sure," the man agreed, standing up straight and offering his hand. "Name's Steve. Y'ever need anything, call me." He pressed a small, square business card into her hand, and she accepted it with a grateful nod.
Meanwhile, Joe and Donny went straight up to her, on either sides of the mustang. He seemed wary and fearful, and his ears were laid back, but she doubted he would do anything extreme, even kick. "Aren't you precious," she cooed to him, smiling. Then Raychel turned to the boys. "You guys gonna help me bring him to the trailer, or am I doing it?"
They confirmed that they would do it, and so Raychel led the way, chatting about her plans for her new horse all the while.
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Stepping out of her truck once more, Raychel went around to the back, where the mustang was kicking against the back of the silver trailer, making an awful din. However, once she opened the back door, he quieted, staring at her with liquid brown eyes. Unable to help a soft smile, she said, "Let's get you out of here, huh?" The mustang tossed his head up and down, almost like he was nodding, and she laughed. Attaching the long lead rope to the brand-new red halter, she lowered the trailer ramp and slowly led him out of the trailer, gently clicking with her tongue all the while. As he unsteadily made his way down to the ground, Raychel wondered what she would name him. It had to be similar to Frag Bomb's, but also unique. After studying the sharp-looking pieces of his white markings, it came to her- Shrapnel Shards.
"Shrapnel Shards," she repeated aloud, smiling. It was perfect. "C'mon, boy. Make yourself at home...at your home?" She giggled.
After leading him into the first stall on the left in her dark mahogany-red-wood barn, she removed his halter, and told him, "I got you some nice new food this morning. And a timothy-and-clover haynet, too. You'll love it here, I promise." Even as she spoke it, though, he let out a terrible whinnying sound, and Raychel hated how lonely he was. She knew he was a herd creature, but what the men had told her confirmed that he was even worse about being separated than normal horses. It was almost like weaning a foal, she though with a grimace.
"It's okay, boy," she whispered to him soothingly as she exited his stall, quietly slipping the bolt into place. But he whinnied again, and she felt so bad that she decided the least she could do was set him out in one of the ten-acre fields she'd fenced in a few months ago. So she got the red lead rope that matched his halter, clipped it on, and, clucking encouragingly, led him to the first field.
Raychel turned him out, smiling gently. "It'll be okay, boy," she told him warmly. "I know it seems awfully lonely, but you'll have a friend here soon." At the word "friend", his ears turned, like he almost recognized the word. She laughed, then withdrew a carrot from her back pocket, offering it to him on a flat palm. Curious, Shrapnel shards lipped at it, then ate it, crunching happily. With a final laugh, Raychel withdrew, then said, "See you tomorrow, Shrapnel...Shell."
