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Mare Talk

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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"How do I know that I won't break you too?"

The grey mare flicked her ears back just briefly, training them back on the pile of hay before her. Her open-fronted stable, a foaling box really, looked out onto two of the yard's fields, though both were devoid of occupants at that present time. Of course, she could pop her head out over the stable door at any time, primly pulled and trimmed mane lying so perfectly down the arch of her neck that it was as if it had been laid there by an artist's brush, but there was plenty for her to see from her stable, as it was. For one other occupant of the yard seemed more than intent on disturbing her - even if she was too much of a lady to send her packing.

Nostrils fluttering with breath, the grey mare flicked her tail, the black hairs whipping sharply through the air. With a roomy enough stable, it was rare that she would ever turn and touch the walls and she enjoyed the space with her powerful, yet lithe body most of her days.

Other days, a little something more may have been nice too. But she brushed that thought aside, turning her attention to the smaller chestnut mare with the fine head, which she had so rudely pushed over the gate to intrude. The red mare on the other side of the gate pawed the gravel, impatiently demanding an answer that she'd really thought she didn't have to give.

"That seems like rather a silly question to ask of a horse. Why would you worry about something like that?"

The red mare huffed and bobbed her muzzle, dark eyes wide and pleading. Flaring her nostrils, a flicker of red gleamed within, breath coming too quickly to be entirely at ease. It was obvious, was it not? And yet the grey mare only shook her head, waving off an imaginary fly while returning her attention all too swiftly to her hay. It was the most important matter of her day.

"Why would I not worry?" The chestnut mare demanded, yanking her head back to pace and weave along the line of the gate. "It's all gone wrong - horribly wrong! How is anyone supposed to deal with this and just trot off like it's all fine and normal?"

Ignoring her, the mare in the stable sighed contentedly, exhaling with a great heave of sweetly scented breath. There was little, truly, that could bother her. Or put her off her hay too, for that matter.

"Listen to me!"

"I am listening. You are frustrated because you do not worry me."

She skidded to a halt, kicking up gravel with her unshod hooves.

"Well..." She paused, playing the words around her mouth before speaking. "Aren't you worried? I mean, it's a very real possibility that everything will go wrong for you too." She winced. "Just like with him."

The mare chewed her hay thoughtfully.

"Perhaps. Only that is not something that horses think of."

"I'm asking you to think of it now."

Flicking her tail, the grey mare had no answer that would satisfy her. And yet she gave it anyway, patient in her years.

"And it's not something I can understand in how I am. If a saddle causes me pain, I will remember it next time I see that saddle. I cannot imagine something so vague that I cannot even be frightened of what may be there."

"But that's just it! What if I cause you pain? What if I become the cause of that worry?"

The grey mare only blinked at her.

"Are you planning to?"

"No!"

"Then why would that be so much of a worry? He said he loved his home."

Sighing, the red mare hung her head, nose nearly brushing the dusty ground; they were in dire need of a good rainstorm. Though preferably without thunder, solely for the sake of those of the equine persuasion.

"It's nice to hear that, at least," she said, after an inordinately long pause. "You may like it too."

Attention finally roused, the grey mare turned from her hay bar, which was set into the corner of the white-washed stable, and slowly dragged it, chew by chew, between her lips.

"I'm sure I would. I have friends here, but he says his friend was nice there too. And you took him places with more friends."

"I did. I tried. I asked for help."

"Then what more do you think you could have done?"

The red mare sighed, while her friend swallowed the last bit of her hay. Regarding her seriously, the dappled grey mare stepped up to the gate and brushed her nose to hers. The chestnut equine recoiled and snorted, wariness clouding her gaze.

"You'll have no breath left in you if you keep sighing like that. That's what my dam always said."

Wincing, the chestnut mare shook her head, flipping her mess of a mane, which was the same shade as her coat, from one side to the other.

"That's an old mare's tale. You know that can't really happen, don't you?"

The grey mare regarded her seriously.

"One can never be too sure."

Her companion sighed, regarding her from the corner of her eye.

"We're not getting anywhere with this."

"Did you expect to be getting somewhere? This is really something for you to work through on your own."

The red mare chuckled wryly and lifted her head, her eye already softer and calmer with less of a white rim around the edge.

"Yes, I know that really, only I thought 'herd behaviour' and asking the old mare might help. And it has. A little."

Snorting, the grey mare pulled her head back, but it was only a bare pretence at haughtiness - it simply wasn't in her nature or her kind eye.

"Old mare! How old do you think I am?"

"Older than me in mental years, that's for sure!"

Giggling, the chestnut mare kicked up her heels and threw a buck, spinning in spot and throwing up dust. Affronted, her friend retreated with her ears halfway back, blinking to stop dust from getting into her eyes. Youngsters - they were all the same.

"Then perhaps we will see where this road leads us," she suggested, attention flickering back to the waiting pile of sweet hay in the corner. "Or not. Either way is your decision to be made. You are the only one who can decide with trail to take from here."

Dipping her head, the chestnut horse puffed for breath, calming herself even as her body trembled for action, for flight - all she was built for and more. Her tail lashed the air, a whip sailing back and forth, yet with no target that could be seen. Restlessness laced her frame.

"You're right," she said, although the words came slowly and thickly as if it was a great struggle to force them off her tongue. "Mares are always right."

"That's why you discuss it with a mare."

The red mare chuckled.

"Too true."

Patiently, the grey horse leaned over the gate for just a quick touch and sharing of breath before succumbing, once again, to the lure of food. Foraging behaviour, after all, always won out over any internal conundrum. Both mares exhaled softly into one another's muzzles, warm breath washing over soft-skinned noses, the quiet end of the day chirping in a blackbird's call.

"Only time will tell which trail we were always meant to take."