As he’s talking, the horse rips its mane free with one sharp toss and starts galloping around the pen. Grady has to jump up on the rail to keep from being trampled as Star circles round again.
“Fucking hell,” Grady shouts, barely pulling his legs up in time.
“You want some help?” I ask.
“You think you’re still the horse whisperer when you barely seen one in three years?” Grady laughs.
“I think I remember ‘em all right,” I say.
I look over at Riona. “You okay if I take over here for a bit?” I ask her.
I know I don’t have to follow her around every minute while we’re on the ranch. We’re in the middle of nowhere, fenced off from the world. She’s safe here.
But it feels strange to leave her alone for any amount of time after we’ve been attached at the hip so long.
“Go ahead,” she says. “Your sister told me I can borrow her laptop. If your internet is decent, I can probably log in to my google docs and get some work done from here.”
“Alright,” I say.
Riona heads back toward the house, and I feel a strange pull to follow after her.
But Star is still galloping around the pen, snorting furiously, and Grady already looks hot and flustered, with the job barely begun.
I slap him on the shoulder. “Go ahead and grab some water. I got this.”
I drop down into the pen, standing in the center so the horse can get used to me. I stay still and relaxed, holding up my hands and saying, “Woah. Calm down, now,” in a low, comforting tone.
Eventually Star drops down to a trot, though she’s still skittering around me, eyeing me warily.
“Relax. Relax,” I say.
As she starts walking, I take hold of her mane, but gently. I let her keep moving, walking around me, giving her the freedom to lift and shake her head as she likes.
Eventually, when she’s calmed down a little, I touch her face and ears, and run my hand down her neck, so she gets used to being touched around the head.
“Alright. That’s not so bad,” I say, patting her cheek.
She’s still not exactly comfortable with me. But she’s calmed down a bit.
I hold the bridle close to her face so she can see and smell the rope. She shies away again, and I wait patiently until she’s accustomed to the pale-blue rope, and the texture against her cheek.
After a long while, I slip it over her head.
She doesn’t like that one bit. She tries to rear up, whinnying, but I gently hold her down, patting her head, rubbing her neck, and speaking softly to her.
Grady comes back out of the house, having gotten a drink and probably some food, too.
“How’s it goin’?” he says.
Just from the sound of his voice, Star rears up again and yanks at the bridle, trying to pull away from me.
“Just stay back over there,” I say to Grady, though using my softest tone so it doesn’t startle Star. “You’re ugly, and you’re scaring her.”
“I’ve heard that too many times,” Grady says, grinning. He stays back, though, out of sight of Star.
I start resting my hand on the horse’s back. Just getting her used to weight and pressure.
She’s never had a rider on her back, not for a second. She’s never carried anything, not even a saddle.
Eventually I start pressing a little harder on her back. Letting her feel a small amount of weight.
She keeps circling round me, held in place by my hand on her bridle. I start to lean on her back, and even pull myself up for a second or two. She startles and skitters away the first couple of times I do it, but eventually the pauses between feeling my weight against her back and her jerking away become longer and more spread out.
I like to break horses bareback, without a saddle. They hate the feeling of the saddle when they’re not used to it. It’s more tolerable to them to feel a person alone, at least to start with.
It’s better for me, too. I can feel the horse’s heartbeat thundering, feel how overheated it’s getting.
So when I finally pull myself all the way up onto Star’s back, I do it with just the bridle and rope, nothing else. No bit in her mouth. Trying to make it as pleasant as possible.
Still, she bolts and starts running. She’s trying to throw me off, though she’s not quite enraged enough to buck or roll. She thinks she can sprint away from me, if she runs fast enough.
I’m not trying to hold her back. Actually, it’s the opposite—I lean low across her neck and I whisper in her ear, urging her on faster and faster.
We gallop around and around the pen. When she starts to slacken her pace, I squeeze my knees against her thighs and urge her to run harder. She’s galloping full out, running faster than she probably ever has before. She was loose on the Foster’s land, galloping around wherever she pleased. But she had no predators, nothing chasing her. She’s never run flat out, with all her might.
Soon I can feel her heart thundering, and her pace slacking.
Horses can only gallop full out for a couple of miles. They can go a long way in a day. But they’re not tireless.
In fact, the animal with the greatest endurance is a human. You could run a horse into the ground, if you had unlimited time and distance to chase it. We’re not as fast as them, or as strong. But there’s no creature more tenacious than us.
Star will tire before I do. I knew that before we started. And that’s why I already knew the outcome of this struggle.
There was no battle between Star and me. I already knew who would win.
That’s why I approached her with gentleness and patience. I wasn’t afraid of her, or afraid she might beat me.
I only had to show her that I’m not her enemy, not her adversary.
I ride Star at top speed until she tires, then I let her canter around and around the pen. Finally she drops to a trot, and then a walk. She’s tired—not beaten and broken down. Just exhausted enough to be at peace with me on her back.
17
Riona
Raylan is out in that pen for hours.
I find myself drawn back to the window again and again to watch him.
I have Bo’s laptop, and I was able to access my personal files. Not the ones for all of Griffin, Briar, Weiss, because they don’t allow remote access from unknown IP addresses. But anything I scanned in myself I can still open, read, and edit.
So there should be plenty for me to do. Plenty to hold my attention.
Instead, I’m back at the kitchen window, watching Raylan gallop around and around that pen with infinite patience.
He doesn’t seem to be trying to calm the horse. Actually, it looks like he’s urging it to run faster. I guess that tires it out sooner.
I don’t know why I feel so agitated, watching him.
I’m impressed by his patience, and by his skill in riding the horse bareback, balancing flawlessly, barely even shifting when the horse abruptly startles or turns, trying to throw him off.
And yet . . . I feel a sort of anxiousness, too. Almost an antipathy toward Raylan. I look at that beautiful, wild horse, and I almost want it to fling him off, so it can kick its way out of the pen and go thundering off across the field again.
That’s an immature impulse, I know.
It’s just a horse. It was bred and raised for work.