Not your typical girl-horse story

Most horse girl stories are from the girl’s point of view, and they are a happily ever after. Not this one

Prologue

Aria kicked croûton harder with her heels, sending the horse into a full gallop towards the brook at the borderline of the vast meadow. The heavy picnic hamper swayed dangerously in the saddle bags, but aria couldn’t be happier. She let go of crouton’s creamy mane and threw her hands in the air, screaming, “I did I It! I trained a wild mustang!”

Mustangs never tame

Crouton despised the brook. It wasn’t anything like the stream she played in as a filly, wild and free. The brook was contained by a low brick wall that stood three feet from the water’s edge, giving it a civilized feel. The brook was narrow and slow moving, so slow moving that you couldn’t hear the water until you were about 12 feet from it. Four years ago, a special chemical had been dumped in the water that killed off all the fish and tadpoles. To crouton, the brook was only a mock of the real thing, only pretend.
Crouton also despised aria’s laziness. Aria wasn’t a weak rider, she could gallop crouton with ease, but she just didn’t have much empathy. She only put the picnic hamper in one saddle bag and didn't even the weight in the other, so crouton had an extra fifteen pounds on her right.
As they neared the brook, crouton slowed down to a right lead canter and then to a jog. Aria swung off and flipped the reins over crouton’s head. “alright now girl,” aria said smartly. “I’ll just unhook your reins and then you can wander around these trees whilst I set up the picnic.”
Crouton snuffled around the trees as Aria pulled out the picnic blanket. As she was walking and grazing, crouton came across a weed. She ate the weed, and as she did, the memories came rushing back to her. She was a filly again, running, frolicking with the other colts and fillies. Crouton lifted her head up and let the wind surround her, combing her mane with its fingers.
The longing overwhelmed the young mare. She remembered the other colts and fillies, there had been three more. A filly born two months after her, small, bay, and lazy. A colt a just hardly older, buckskin, wild and her best friend. There had been a yearling filly too, but crouton hadn’t known her well. She wondered where they were now, if they missed her.
Suddenly she didn’t know why she was wearing a saddle. She didn’t know why she was broken. She knew at least that Aria hadn’t trimmed her mane, she was glad about that. Crouton’s mane was about 18 inches long, and often whipped around in the wind when she had her head raised high. It made her seem wild, even if she had been a lesson pony.
“Crouton! I have the picnic ready. Yum, these little hand pies are delicious!” Aria was a wonderful cook for a twelve year old girl. Most of the time when she wasn’t riding crouton, she was baking something wonderful in the kitchen. Today the picnic contained of Shepard’s hand pies, an arugula salad with a cinnamon apple dressing and pumpkin spice cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.
Aria put a large serving of the salad on crouton’s plate and pushed the plate towards her. Crouton was typically quite picky about eating “civilized food,” but she was quite fond of the apple cinnamon dressing. The two of them ate their salads in silence, each occupied by her private thoughts. Aria wasn’t the type of girl that blabbered on and on to her horse. School had started a month ago, and was going wonderful, but there wasn’t much to tell.
Aria reached into the picnic hamper for a cupcake and then started gathering up the blanket. She shoved everything into the hamper and finished her cupcake. “Ready to go, Crouton?” Crouton had been ready to leave the brook. It was about half a mile from Aria’s home, a short walk for the deep-lunged mare. Aria clipped on croutons reins and swung into her saddle.
Crouton started a slow lope to the house, and gosh, she was depressed as she did so. Suddenly crouton knew she had to go back. She knew that she had to find her heard and go back to them. There wasn’t another way she could be happy. Crouton slid to a stop and slammed her right side into a tree, crushing both the picnic hamper and Aria’s leg. She then shook the girl the rest of the way from the saddle and took off at a gallop.
Crouton heard her name several times and saw aria running after her, slow and limping. Crouton only looked back once and kept on running back through the vast meadow. She came to the brook, and in one swift movement, crouton jumped over it, stone wall and all. She crashed down on her front legs as she landed and fell over in agony. Crouton wasn’t used to jumping much, so the impact on her front legs was enough to fracture the bone.
She got up again. Crouton continued walking through the trees, putting minimal wait on her front left leg, which hurt terribly. She walked and walked and walked until she got to a small log cabin, surrounded by a fence that contained a lean-to shed. As she was very tired, crouton laid down near the house and fell asleep.
When she awoke, it was quite dark out except for a lantern, bobbing towards her curiously. “Hey, there. You look like a little mustang.” An old male voice behind the lantern said, “you look a little injured, too. Let me help.”
Normally crouton wouldn’t have let anyone else catch her, but she was so tired and her leg wouldn’t allow her to go on anyways. The lantern and human helped get her to her feet, and she followed the old man to the lean-to shed. He took off her tack and poured some wood shavings on the floor to make a soft bedding for her.
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” he told her. Crouton sighed and laid her head down on the shavings. She shivered as a light wind blew in through the open side, the sweat on her chest and back had turned cold. She waited for about five or six long minutes before the man returned.
He set down all he was carrying, and lifted up a pot and bowl large enough her muzzle could fit in it. He poured a steaming, green, liquid from the pot and stirred it around before pushing the bowl towards her. “Drink.”
Crouton lifted her muzzle and tried the liquid. It was hot, and it warmed her insides, yet it also seemed to calm her.
“This is a special tea I make. I’ve noticed that it does quite a job of knocking out pain in animals.” He then covered crouton in a medium- weight blanket and wrapped her leg in fleece and gauze. He set a flake of hay near her then and headed on his way. “I’ll exchange your blanket b’fore I get to bed,” he said, and then he was off.
Crouton got to her feet and ate her hay. She finished the tea and took a couple seconds to ponder around the small lean-to and get used to the smell of wood shavings. Then the man came back carrying a light-weight red blanket and swept off her old one, replacing it with the pretty red one. Then he left, and crouton fell asleep.
The morning came and the old man came, too. He tossed a flake and a half onto the ground of the lean-to and took off her blanket. “How’s yer leg doin, girl?” He asked crouton. He reached down and took off the bandage and felt it for swelling and heat. “Still hardly swollen, I’ll let ye go on tomorrow.” He pulled two leaves from a pocket in his trousers and pinched them into a sort of paste and rubbed it on her leg. He wrapped it in fleece and gauze again and then left her in silence.
Crouton finished her hay and drifted into the fenced area surrounding the lean-to and house. The grasses were long and still covered in early morning frost and the wind seemed to whisper through them. She was nearly positive that the wind whispered, be free, crouton, the horses are calling. Be free, crouton… the winds seemed to nag at her. I can’t be free just yet, she thought. My leg is almost better, I’ll continue tomorrow.
The sun continued rising higher in the sky, melting the frost on the grasses so they were good to eat. Crouton grazed for a couple hours, but tired of that by the time the early afternoon came around. She walked up to the door of the little log cabin and sniffled and snuffled at the wood and the warm smells of civilized food inside. The wood was good for chewing, she decided, and set to work gnawing on the end of a log.
“Go find somethin’ else ta do, mustang!” The old man called from the door, “it won’t do ya any good to chew my house that ‘a’ way!” He came out and pet crouton for a couple minutes, then led her back to a huge circle of willow trees, stationed behind the lean-to a ways. He pulled away the leaves, revealing a small pond, and ushered crouton inside.“Thought you might like this place, mustang. I’ll bet your leg ain’t swollen anymore, so you can enjoy it.”
Crouton bowed her head as if to thank the man, and started exploring the area. The huge willow trees acted as a curtain, no one could see crouton in there, and she couldn’t see anyone outside. She splashed the water in the pond with her forefeet and took gentle sips of it. This water isn’t bad at all, she thought. Civilized feeling or not, this place is much better than the brook.
She spent the rest of the day in there, and at nighttime when the man came to take her back to the lean-to, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. The old man took off her bandage that night, and left open the gate to the fenced area. “Tomorrow you can go, mustang, and continue on that journey of yours. If ye ever need a place to stay feel free to come back, I won’t forget ye.”
Crouton slept the night and set out again the next morning. She was walking west once again, looking for her heard. She remembered the land faintly, she remembered little parts of it like the small canyon and wild stream. Crouton picked up a canter. The land flew by under her feet as she sailed west, to where she belonged.
The whole day she cantered on and by nighttime she slept under the stars. For the next two days crouton traveled at a canter out west, each day getting closer until on the third day she new she was almost there. She started seeing things, things like other hoof prints, less and less trees, and smells of horses and dust.
I’m almost there! She thought to herself I think I should stop running and call to them. Crouton stopped and whinnied loud and clear, then quieted and listened for a response. When none came, she called again, this time even louder. In the distance she heard a reply whinny, hardly there, but urgent. Crouton started galloping towards the whinny. She called out again and this time the reply was much louder, crouton was getting so close.
At last she saw horses against the horizon line. A large heard lead by what looked like a buckskin who whinnied when he saw her. Crouton whinnied again and plunged on flying at full speed toward her heard. Suddenly she was there. She was standing right in front of that buckskin, her long mane cascading down her shoulders. Was that buckskin stallion the colt she’d known as a filly?
He nickered warmly, welcoming her home again, he was indeed the colt. Crouton knew he had found her herd. Crouton knew she was finally home.