The Grey Horse

— Chapter 2 —

The day the grey horse passed out in the field was the same day the nanny goat decided to run away. There are no coincidences.

“Why I didn’t do this sooner I have no idea,” the nanny goat said, digging a hole under the fence at the bottom of the yard. Rain had softened the ground. The digging was easy. The rain kept the farmer and his family indoors. Even if one of the them had been looking out of a window they couldn’t have seen the nanny goat for the sky was as black as pitch and the rain was coming down in sheets and buckets. The nanny goat crawled under the fence and into the field beyond, nearly tripping over the grey horse who was lying like a lumpy ghost, unconscious in the mud.

“Oh dear,” said the nanny goat. Her attempts to rouse the grey horse were fruitless. “I can't just leave you there like that, can I?” She went back through the yard via the hole under the fence and into the barn where the cows slept. She took two of the cows’ blankets in her mouth. The blankets were coarse and spiky, not unlike the nanny goat’s fur. The farmer gave the cows blankets because they produced more and better tasting milk when they were comfortable—otherwise they’d have been as naked and chilly as the other animals on the farm. “Exshquoowsh gnee,” the nanny goat said to the cows as she left the barn, dragging the blankets beside her. The cows ignored her. They usually did. The other farm animals said the cows had tickets on themselves.

The nanny goat put the blankets over the horse. They soggied-up quickly but the nanny goat reasoned the horse would be warmer beneath wet blankets than he had been beneath the wet, cold, windy sky.

“I’m not merciless,” the sky said.

“I never said you were,” the nanny goat retorted.

The goat found an apple core and enough grass and weeds to make a half-decent meal for a half-dead horse. She put the food in front of the grey horse's nose then lay beside him, giving him as much body heat as she had to give, which—when you’re an old goat, all bone and skin—isn’t much. She fell asleep.

When she woke up it was still dark. The horse was awake, still beneath the blankets. He had eaten the apple core and the grass and the weeds. The horse’s breath came in laboured rattly rasps from goop-filled lungs. His red eyes bulged. His tongue was grey. Even though his head was swimming and hot flushes raced through him from nose to tail and back again he listened closely to the nanny goat as she told him, hurriedly and firmly, of her plan to escape, to head over the mountains.

“And never come back?” the horse asked.

The nanny goat shook her head. “Never. Of course not. We won’t be able to. The farmer would kill us if we did.”

“Has anyone killed you before?” the horse asked, shivering.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” said the goat.

The horse didn’t know what made the question stupid and he didn’t ask. He thought that running away was a good idea though. “Yes,” he said.

“Yes what?” the goat asked.

“I want to run away with you.”

The nanny goat thought it unlikely the horse could manage a trot, or even a short walk with confidence, let alone run anywhere “If we’re going to escape we have to leave now. By the time the sun comes up it’ll be too late. The farmer gets up early.”

“At sparrow’s fart?” the grey horse asked.

“Earlier,” The goat said,

Pricking up his ears caused a strange sensation in the grey horse’s right foreleg. A twinge. He strained quite hard, casting his hearing out into the copse of trees at the bottom of the field and up and down the river. He couldn’t hear any sparrows farting. He realised he’d never heard a sparrow fart and might not recognise one if he heard it. “It would probably be a very very soft sort of sound,” he muttered. “Like someone dusting a leaf with a feather.” He realised the effort of straining his hearing had caused a low frequency hum in his ears, probably enough interference to prevent sparrow fart detection. And, anyway, the nanny goat had said the farmer got up before the sparrow’s farted.

The nanny goat ignored the horse’s mutterings. She was looking up at the farmhouse. She fancied she could hear snoring but it might have been her stomach. She knew she should eat if they were going to be on the hoof all day. “The farmer has a rifle and he’s a good shot,” she muttered. The farmer also had two nasty, big Alsatians with very good noses and good teeth. Or bad teeth if you were on the wrong end of them. The nanny goat looked at the sky. No sign of dawn’s grey fingers. “Two hours before he wakes up?” she wondered. Had she not stumbled across the horse hours before she would have been far away. Not that she regretted having stopped to help the grey horse. She didn’t resent him for costing her time and a comfortable distance from the farmer and his fury and his rifle and his dogs.

“She could have left me on the ground,” the grey horse thought. He wasn't sure he had the strength to travel far, and said so.

“You won't know unless you try," the nanny goat said. She tore a mouthful of grass out of the ground and started chewing. “Stand up,” she said, the words muffled by grass.

The nanny goat looked the horse up and down. He wobbled on rickety legs. He stamped his feet and shook himself to remove dirt, twigs and, pebbles. The effort caused feverish spasms of treacly cold and hot to roil through him. Swirling blobs of colour erupted in front of his eyes. His blood surged and his heart thundered in his ears. His head seemed three times bigger than it should have. His legs buckled and he lurched from side to side but didn’t fall over. “Jinkies,” he said. “A mountain you say?”

“Mmmm.” The nanny goat said. The way she knit her brow made obvious her lack of unshakeable faith in the fortitude of her companion. For the briefest moment she wondered if bringing him along was a bad idea. It could cost her her life.

“When I’m not sick I can travel twice as fast as you. If being being sick makes me half as fast then we’re well matched,” the horse suggested.

If she’d had fingers instead of hooves the nanny goat might have used them to do the maths and see if the horse’s calculations were correct. Having cloven hooves meant the nanny goat could only do rudimentary sums.

They were five miles from the farm when the sun came up. It didn’t make its usual amble into the world with a yawn and a grin but appeared with a wallop. Dark one moment, and the next: full daylight with the sun a good way up in the cloudless sky. The warmth of the day gave the horse strength and courage. Excitement cooled the fever racing through him. The mud that had matted his fur had dried and fallen off. His eyes no longer bulged. The shine was coming back to them. 

“Out of the blue with all sorts of promises,” the horse said with a gleeful snicker. He’d never made a gleeful snicker before. It so surprised and delighted him to hear it that he did it again.

“I beg your pardon?” said the nanny goat, looking back over her shoulder. Every time she turned her head she half expected to see the farmer and his dogs bearing down on them.

“Nothing,” the horse said blushing, embarrassed that the goat had heard the funny noise. It’s hard to tell when an animal whose cheeks are covered in fur is blushing.

They stopped at a bramble patch whose berries were few but enough for a snack.

A bumble bee settled on the horse’s nose. He went cross eyed trying to keep it in focus.

"We're not out of the woods yet," said the nanny goat, when in fact they weren't even into the woods. They decided to leave the open ground they were travelling on in case the farmer was after them. They splashed up a creek for half a mile—a good thing to do if you suspect dogs are following you. Dogs have a good sense of smell and can tell which way you’ve gone by following the scent trail you leave on the ground. No trail of scent is left in flowing water. Once out of the creek they headed up hill and into the trees.

“We’re in the woods now,” the horse said. The world had never looked so marvellous. He snickered. “I’m going to make that my signature sound,” he called ahead to the nanny goat. The nanny goat ignored him. She wondered if the horse’s brain had been damaged by the fever.

The horse snickered again, then laughed at the wonderful ridiculousness of the sound.

The grey horse and the nanny goat were deep in the woods, their first day of freedom drawing to a close, when the horse nearly trod on a large black snake coiled on the ground, enjoying the last of the sun. The horse startled, reared up on his hind legs and jumped sideways into a large cactus patch. Dozens of dagger-like spines pierced his skin. The horse made a sound like a braking train. He jumped again, away from the cactus, and knocked the nanny goat flat on her side. All the wind that was in her came out of her in a loud “Ooopf!”

The black snake didn't know what to make of the ruckus. He’d been dreaming and thinking and thinking and dreaming, savouring the heat of the sun. Alone in the clearing he’d been undisturbed all afternoon. And then without a “by your leave” two large animals exploded into his life. One of whom was so big the snake could hardly see the top of it. Snakes can’t see anything that’s more than two metres away from them. Being nearly two metres tall the grey horse’s head appeared to the snake as a blurry blob.

"Don't you bite me, snake!" The horse demanded. Horses are more frightened of snakes than they are of cactuses or farmers with dogs and rifles. Horses are almost as frightened of snakes as elephants are of mice.

"I wouldn't dream of it," the snake said. “But watch where you put your feet.”

“I’m very sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“I’m sorry I was down here for you not to see. It’s a long way from your head to the ground; you must miss a lot of things,” the snake said. “But perhaps I ought not to have been lying around down here not paying attention to the day’s comings and goings. I didn’t know that the two of you would be coming and going. Are you going?”

The nanny goat, back on her feet, had regained her breath and most of her composure.

In no time the horse and the snake and the nanny goat were sharing jokes and stories. They didn’t have any cigars or butterscotch. The snake decided he'd like to know what was on the other side of the mountain range and chose to join the adventure. The nanny goat tossed him up onto the horse's back and off they went. The horse’s hereditary fear of snakes dissipated in the face of the snake’s humour and friendliness.

Though clever the black snake didn’t speak much, or at least, before meeting the horse and the nanny goat, he hadn’t. Life changes in the blink of an eye. All of a sudden, by association, he was Mr. Gregarious, and, as far as he knew, would be for the foreseeable future. Though he’d been a creature of habit he was learning how fast his habits could change. He was learning how fluid he was. The black snake had never had friends before. Friendship was something he hadn’t considered, either for himself or as a concept. He’d kept his own counsel. He’d kept his thoughts and opinions to himself, having no one to share them with. This state of affairs suited him. He wasn’t lonely. He had no concept of loneliness.

The black snake had great faith in the order of things. Had he seen the need to adopt a philosophy it might have been: Let others learn what works and what doesn’t. Let them learn in their own time, by their own mistakes. Or something like that.

The black snake rarely moved unless it had to, and then rarely at speed. He spent his time pondering things, the nature of existence and such like, communicating with spirits and ancestors and other entities that most people and many animals move too quickly to notice. Such entities weren‘t “friends”. They weren’t talkative in the way the horse and the nanny goat were. They didn’t take away his aloneness. Communication with such entities took place in another realm, another dimension entirely.

The sun went down and the world got chilly. They walked for another hour. The ground beneath them started getting steeper. Actually, it had been the same steepness, at the same angle for a very long time, at least since the last great upheaval. It was steeper relative to the stretch of ground the three animals had been crossing before. Up it went: the mountain had begun.

“Hey,” the horse yelled up at the face of the mountain towering up in front of them. “Are you going show us the best way up and over you?”

The mountain was silent.

“He will,” the black snake said. “As long as we’re polite.”

“I’m always polite,” the horse said.

“And observant.”

The horse shook his head sombrely. “I’ve been a servant all my life. I’m over it.”

“The mountain’s a he then, is it?” the nanny goat said.

“This one’s more of a him than a her,” the snake replied.

“How can you tell?” the horse asked.

“I’m observant.”

The nanny goat gave the snake the benefit of the doubt. “We’ve come far enough,” she said. Her creaky joints were aching. They had come a long way. She felt confident that, had the farmer been after them, which she doubted, and if his dogs hadn’t lost the scent by now, which she felt sure they would have, the farmer would have turned back. Surely the farmer wasn’t the sort of man to waste more than a couple of hours chasing a couple of scrabbly animals, no matter how valuable they were. They stood in front of a big rocky bluff that jutted out of the side of the mountain like a house sized tabletop hurled from another country by an angry giant. It would give them shelter for the night.   

The valley stretched out below them. The lights of farms twinkled. Far off, a cluster of the great many lights of the valley’s only town, where during the day farmers sold produce and bought tools, children went to school and people exchanged what gossip they had, and sometimes bought haircuts and cheeses in waxed paper packets.

The horse and the nanny goat scanned the valley below for the farm they had left behind. Neither could tell which it was. Being far away all the farms looked much the same. Feeling safe and happy for the first time since they could remember the grey horse and the nanny goat fell asleep. The black snake stayed up meditating for some time.

They spent their first night of freedom a smidge of the way up a mountain whose heights were mysterious and inviting.

When the sun came up they shook off the shivers and carried on, climbing steadily higher. The horse nibbled bushes. He pricked his nose in a patch of brambles trying to get berries. The goat ate almost a whole tuft of grass. The black snake ate nothing.