from the moon, a smirk on her face.
“Maybe you’re not as chicken as you look,” she said.
I let it pass. I didn’t feel like a coward, and that’s what mattered.
Angel danced through the damp grass, and I followed the dark footsteps she left there. She jumped from stone to stone to cross the stream while I tried to keep up. We wove through the trees, through the secret, bluish black night, and soon we were brushing the mist and I was stepping on her shadow.
Angel caught my hand as we came to a clearing, made me stay where I was. She seemed to have heard something, but I couldn’t see anything there. She called, “Yeeyeye.”
I remembered how I’d first seen the horse called Belle, just as she was now, galloping toward us.
Speed lifted her mane; her nostrils were wide, her ears turned forward. The thump of her hooves came closer. I could feel something tight in my chest. I held Angel’s coat. There was nothing to hide behind except her. Angel didn’t move. All the air gathered at the top of my lungs because I couldn’t see how Belle could stop. But she did. Like magic, half a step in front of Angel.
Belle was white as the moon, black as the shadows. She tossed her head, and white waves rippled down her neck as she looked over Angel’s shoulder at me. I heard her breath, how she breathed us in.
“Just look at her,” Angel said. “Don’t think about anything, just look.”
I saw Belle’s narrow face, her velvet, curved mouth, the long hair that fell from the back of her knees and swept the ground around her hooves.
Angel leaned against Belle’s shoulder. There was nothing between them. Like they knew each other so well. And I knew that it was all right. That I would be too.
Belle’s pink nostrils spilled steam into the air as she lowered her head and blew on me.
“Why is she doing that?” I said.
Angel laughed quietly. “She wants to know you. She will when you touch her.”
I watched Belle’s belly roll into gentle breaths. I saw the shapes of black on her white skin, or was it shapes of white on her black skin? I traced them with my hands, trying to find where one color ended and another began. Just one hair’s difference. Belle turned to look where I touched her. I saw the mirror in her eyes reflecting Angel and me.
“Do you feel it?” Angel said.
I felt the opposite of when I’d first seen her. Now I wasn’t scared of how big and strong Belle was. I was thrilled to have her next to me, standing over us both as if she would protect us. I ran my hand over her warm shoulder, and I felt as if all that strength could be in me too. Belle made me feel brave.
“Belle wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Angel said. “It wasn’t her that made you scared.”
I thought back to what had happened when I first saw Belle. I was scared before I saw her, before I dropped the case. Because I’d taken the suitcase and hidden it from Mom. Because I’d done something I shouldn’t have. Or maybe because I was scared of what was inside it.
“I’ve never seen a horse like this one,” I said.
“Some people call them Gypsy cobs, and some people call them Gypsy vanners. They’re like a mixture of other horses, but nobody really knows. Gypsies bred them a long time ago to be strong enough to pull their caravans and to be gentle with their children. Belle is from a special family of horses: Mr. Hemsworth told me once.”
I watched Belle shift to lean against one leg, watched her test where she moved her hoof so she wouldn’t stand on Angel’s foot. Angel moved slightly. Neither of them watched her own feet. It was magic. Just them shifting their feet so each could stand where she needed to.
Angel put her arms up and took hold of Belle’s mane. She bounced and climbed on Belle’s back. She held her hand out to me.
“Coming up?” she said.
“Don’t we need a saddle and some reins?” I said, stalling, because I’d never been on a horse before. Angel leaned over farther.
“You ask so
“Maybe you’re not as chicken as you look,” she said.
I let it pass. I didn’t feel like a coward, and that’s what mattered.
Angel danced through the damp grass, and I followed the dark footsteps she left there. She jumped from stone to stone to cross the stream while I tried to keep up. We wove through the trees, through the secret, bluish black night, and soon we were brushing the mist and I was stepping on her shadow.
Angel caught my hand as we came to a clearing, made me stay where I was. She seemed to have heard something, but I couldn’t see anything there. She called, “Yeeyeye.”
I remembered how I’d first seen the horse called Belle, just as she was now, galloping toward us.
Speed lifted her mane; her nostrils were wide, her ears turned forward. The thump of her hooves came closer. I could feel something tight in my chest. I held Angel’s coat. There was nothing to hide behind except her. Angel didn’t move. All the air gathered at the top of my lungs because I couldn’t see how Belle could stop. But she did. Like magic, half a step in front of Angel.
Belle was white as the moon, black as the shadows. She tossed her head, and white waves rippled down her neck as she looked over Angel’s shoulder at me. I heard her breath, how she breathed us in.
“Just look at her,” Angel said. “Don’t think about anything, just look.”
I saw Belle’s narrow face, her velvet, curved mouth, the long hair that fell from the back of her knees and swept the ground around her hooves.
Angel leaned against Belle’s shoulder. There was nothing between them. Like they knew each other so well. And I knew that it was all right. That I would be too.
Belle’s pink nostrils spilled steam into the air as she lowered her head and blew on me.
“Why is she doing that?” I said.
Angel laughed quietly. “She wants to know you. She will when you touch her.”
I watched Belle’s belly roll into gentle breaths. I saw the shapes of black on her white skin, or was it shapes of white on her black skin? I traced them with my hands, trying to find where one color ended and another began. Just one hair’s difference. Belle turned to look where I touched her. I saw the mirror in her eyes reflecting Angel and me.
“Do you feel it?” Angel said.
I felt the opposite of when I’d first seen her. Now I wasn’t scared of how big and strong Belle was. I was thrilled to have her next to me, standing over us both as if she would protect us. I ran my hand over her warm shoulder, and I felt as if all that strength could be in me too. Belle made me feel brave.
“Belle wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Angel said. “It wasn’t her that made you scared.”
I thought back to what had happened when I first saw Belle. I was scared before I saw her, before I dropped the case. Because I’d taken the suitcase and hidden it from Mom. Because I’d done something I shouldn’t have. Or maybe because I was scared of what was inside it.
“I’ve never seen a horse like this one,” I said.
“Some people call them Gypsy cobs, and some people call them Gypsy vanners. They’re like a mixture of other horses, but nobody really knows. Gypsies bred them a long time ago to be strong enough to pull their caravans and to be gentle with their children. Belle is from a special family of horses: Mr. Hemsworth told me once.”
I watched Belle shift to lean against one leg, watched her test where she moved her hoof so she wouldn’t stand on Angel’s foot. Angel moved slightly. Neither of them watched her own feet. It was magic. Just them shifting their feet so each could stand where she needed to.
Angel put her arms up and took hold of Belle’s mane. She bounced and climbed on Belle’s back. She held her hand out to me.
“Coming up?” she said.
“Don’t we need a saddle and some reins?” I said, stalling, because I’d never been on a horse before. Angel leaned over farther.
“You ask so
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