This is a bit of a character exploration snippet from the POV of one of the characters in Dust of the Arena. It takes place roughly five years before chapter one.
***
He didn’t know what it was about the small horse that he liked so much.
Only that she made him feel calm.
Peter sat in the corner of the pen, chin on top of his knees. The sun had shifted since he first took refuge from the heat in the shade of the water trough, but he didn’t want to move now.
The mare was getting closer.
The scruffy brown and black creature had avoided him since he came into the pen last night, but now, drawn to the water, she slowly stepped forward, constantly flicking her ears toward him in case he should prove dangerous to her.
Her delicate black muzzle touched the water, sending ripples across the surface. The sound of gentle slurping filled the air.
He licked his dry lips. It had been a while since he had any water himself, but he didn’t want to go back inside.
The lady who’d rescued him was nice, to be sure, but could she be trusted?
He wasn’t sure yet.
He eyed the water trough. Bits of hay floated on top, but it was cleaner than some water he’d had.
Peter slowly stood up, keeping his eyes away from the mare so she wouldn’t think he was staring at her like a hungry predator. She shied and jumped back a few steps, but kept watching him.
He dunked his hot head into the water. He only got a piece of hay in his mouth once, but it tasted better than most water he’d had.
He finally came up for air, snorting water out of his nose and shaking water droplets from his hair.
A long, rumbling snort made him jump. He glanced at the bay mare, whose gaze was firmly trained on him.
Slowly, she crept forward and dipped her nose into the water, lips wiggling around. She drew back and shook her head, spraying him with water and horse spit.
“Ey!” He chuckled. “Ay, you like to play, yes?”
His voice crackled from disuse. How long had it been since he had spoken to anyone?
The mare reached her head out, licking the water from his hair. He stared in fascination at the length of her tongue.
“See, I am not so scary.” He held out his hand, and the mare sniffed his arm. “The lady with the hat, she’s a little scary.”
He knew that she was different– she had rescued him from his father, after all. No one had done that before.
But still… he couldn’t trust her, could he? What if she only wanted him because she had heard about his ability? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been kidnapped for it.
As if his thoughts had somehow summoned her, the lady stepped out of the house, marching toward the corral. Chaya, that was how she introduced herself.
She wasn’t a lot older than him, only twenty, but that fact didn’t make her any less intimidating. He ducked behind the water trough, being careful not to lean against it. He was hiding, but he didn’t want to feel squished.
Chaya stepped into the pen, a long rope in hand. Did she know he was in here? Was she planning on tying him up and putting him in her creepy dark basement?
No, she was walking toward the horse. She began swinging the short end of the rope toward the horse, clicking her tongue.
The horse squealed, bolting away from the waving rope. Heat surged in Peter’s chest, and his hands tightened into fists.
He could handle it if Chaya decided she wanted to beat him for being bad. But beating the beautiful horse?
That was a crime he couldn’t let pass.
He almost began to stand up, but stopped as Chaya stopped spinning the rope and instead stayed in the center of the pen. She only flicked the rope when the bay mare stopped walking.
Well, this was odd. What was the point of having the horse run in circles?
He shrank back into his corner and watched Chaya push the horse in circles, once stepping in front to cut her off and make the mare change directions. The more times she repeated the exercise, the less frightened the mare looked. She even kept an ear trained on Chaya, paying attention to any cues.
And then, Chaya lowered the rope. She turned and walked back toward the gate, not looking back at the horse or acknowledging Peter’s presence.
The bay mare hesitated, then followed after her, stopping when Chaya stopped. The two of them were only an arm’s length apart.
“Atta girl.” Chaya slowly turned around and reached out her hand for the mare to sniff. She did, and Chaya gently reached her hand up and rubbed the mare’s jaw. The mare’s eyelashes fluttered and her muzzle loosened.
“See, I’m not scary.” Chaya kept her gaze trained on the horse, but the way she raised her voice slightly made Peter think he wasn’t so invisible as he thought.
Sure enough, Chaya glanced toward him in his corner. “You two seem to like each other.”
Do not look into her eyes. He stared at the ground and nodded.
“You wanna try a join-up with her?”
“What is… a join-up?” he asked.
“What I just did with her.” Chaya moved her hand down and rubbed the horse’s neck. “It sort of mimics what horses do in the wild. Herd one another around until they know who’s leader. You gotta be consistent and confident, and then they’ll know that they can rely on you.”
“You can’t gain trust in a day,” he muttered, folding his arms.
“Oh, she’s still got a long way to go to make a good saddle horse. But it’s all about introductions.” Chaya stepped closer and held out the rope. “So? Want to try?”
He eyed the rope, then looked at the bay horse.
Confidence and consistency? Two things he was not good at.
But he could try for the pretty bay horse. He did want to make friends with her.
He stood up, dusting off his shorts. He took the rope, rearranging it in his hands like he’d seen her do.
Chaya walked back to the gate, slipping out of the corral. “Gently spin one end of the rope and click your tongue to get her going. Just keep her at a walk.”
He moved toward the bay mare, whirling the rope. The horse’s eyes rolled white and she spun toward the other end of the pen, ears pinned against her head.
He froze, mouth going dry. He knew that look. That was fear. He made the horse fear him.
“I… I can’t do this.” He dropped the ropes. “She’ll hate me.”
“No, she won’t.” Chaya leaned against the railing. “Just be the leader. Gentle and firm. Horses live in herd dynamics– right now she isn’t sure where she is in the herd rank, and that’s more spooky to her than a rope.”
Peter swallowed, then began to spin the rope. He stopped the second she went to a walk, turning so he followed her movement around the pen.
“Let her go a few more rounds, then turn her,” Chaya instructed.
Peter nodded. He waited until the horse had gone around the pen twice more, then stepped in front and turned her.
Halfway through a second rotation in the opposite direction, the mare’s ear flicked toward him. A spark of excitement ignited in his chest.
“Drop the rope and turn away,” Chaya whispered.
He lowered his arms and shuffled towards the water trough.
Hesitation. A snort.
Hoofbeats. Getting closer.
Whiskers tickled his ears, and he tried not to squirm. Horse breath whuffed across the back of his hair and down his neck.
I did it.
He joined up with the horse.
“See? Told you she likes ya.” Chaya grinned. “You know what this means, right?”
“What?”
“You get to name her. Haven’t settled on a good one yet, but clearly she’s a one-kid horse. So go ahead. Choose a name.”
Peter bit his lip, rubbing the horse’s smooth, hot neck.
He knew the perfect name. It was in Spanish, and he didn’t like speaking Spanish– reminded him too much of his father. Even if it was his first language.
But he could make the exception for the horse.
“Milagro,” he murmured. “It means… miracle.”
oh how pretty! I love this!