The Sun God

(I wrote this a few years back. I edited it a little bit, and posted it here... it doesn't really reflect my writing style anymore, but I thought it would be interesting to compare how I wrote a few years ago to how I write now.)

She crouches low to the ground, balancing on the balls of her feet, rocking her weight from foot to foot. The halter and lead line drape from her right shoulder, lazily mirroring the swaying motion of her body. Her eyes are soft, taking in every object in her peripheral vision. Mostly though, her focus is on a leggy, slender yearling colt in incandescent gray. The animal ambles cautiously toward the fence, halving the space between them, now only ten yards away.

She leans over to the right, shifting her feet wider apart to regain lost balance. The colt balks, spins off to the left side, then angles his head askance to study the slight figure hunkered down on the other side of the barrier. She smiles, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so gently, drawing her cheeks towards her temples in a look that tells the colt he might need to rethink his own agenda. Confused, and only a little uneasy, he switches his tail quickly over each flank, startling an imaginary horse fly into sporadic flight. His ears swivel rapidly to catch each little disturbance on the afternoon breeze.

“Suspense is a killer, is it not?"

Taken aback by the sudden jolt of human speech, the colt jigs up, then rounds and takes off toward the other end of the enclosure, bucking and bending madly in a futile effort to dislodge the offensive words from his delicate ears.

She attempts to soothe him, speaking in quiet tones as he circles the paddock, down shifting each lap until he stands quivering, his tail clamped firmly between his legs. The refined, classically dished Arabian face stabs straight up into the sky, its over sized nostrils extending and retracting with every measured breath. His eyes, two black pools set far apart on each side of his forehead, are dead-set on the girl, who is now standing a few paces away from him.

She approaches calmly but deliberately, holding her hand out in front of her, palm up. She stops moving when her fingers can just barely brush the velvety nose of the horse in front of her. Gently, she caresses the space between his eyes, which are fixed on her with uncertain defiance. He stands stock still, grudgingly allowing the contact between them, trembling with the effort.

Again, she speaks.

“…Hush, be calm… you’re OK, you’re fine,” she murmurs soothingly, becoming serene again herself.

She begins walking slowly over to the gate, letting her hand rest on the colt’s flank as he shyly walks beside her, the fence long forgotten as any kind of physical barrier between them. As she opens the gate, letting the chain fall against the wooden post, he turns toward her and allows her to slip the halter over his nose, buckling the strap behind his ears.

All hell breaks loose.

Suddenly, he realizes his mistake. He rears, bucks, and rips the lead line from her slack grasp and rockets along the fence line, swinging around behind the barn. She looks down at her hand, feeling the burning sensation spread like fire up her arm. The bases of her three middle fingers are severely blistered, bubbling up red and swollen.

“Damn it,” she swears under her breath, then sheepishly, she jogs off after him.

She watches him disappear behind the other side of the barn, then checks her speed, switches directions, heads back the way she came. Rounding the corner of the barn, she stops and gazes at the colt, backed up against the paddock fence, sandwiched between the white cinder block wall and a scraggly dead tree. The expression on his face causes her to release a short barking laugh. He snorts in reply, a look of utter indignation in his flashing eyes. The rope from his halter is caught in the lower branches of the tree. He resigns to the fact that he is trapped; he allows her to grab up the lead rope. This time, she takes a firm hold of the lead, and watches him intently.

“Carmen? Are you going to need help loading that beast?”

She looks over at the small blue two-horse trailer parked several yards away, then shifts her glance to include the three people standing under the eaves of the barn. Her mother, a look of uncertainty and curiosity showing plainly on her dark oval face, shoots a fleeting peek at the colt.

"I think I can manage. Just be ready in case he flips out again."

She pulls lightly on the rope, causing the colt to lift his forelegs up in a mock rear. Jerking down on the rope, she convinces him to keep all four feet on the frozen ground, but the air of quiet rage still lingers on his expressive face. She returns the look, challenging him, holding his gaze, together locked in each other’s eyes. Impasse.

Loading him onto the trailer isn't as easy. Her patience is tested harshly, and with each attempt at getting the colt to comply with her wishes, her patience slowly wears away until her nerves are on knife’s edge, teetering dangerously over her mental precipice. These emotions overflow onto the horse, causing him to project them tenfold. Finally, exhausted and exasperated, she gives up trying to be patient, and gives the colt a resounding whack on his rump with a braided rope.

Immediately the young horse leaps forward, letting the slack in his lead line, which is wrapped around the main pole at the front of the trailer, drop almost to the straw covered flooring. The man standing next to the pole holding the end of the rope quickly pulls up the slack, causing the shocked colt to be hustled into the gloomy womb of the rusty blue box. The ramp snaps up behind him, the swinging top-flaps shut tight against his indignation.

Unloading the beast takes less effort than before, and he learns quickly the limits of the rope binding him to the girl. He stands tall and majestic in the paddock next to the new barn, angling his head to each side, taking in the new vistas and the myriad of scents. Luring him into the stall opening directly onto the paddock, she closes the half door and un-halters him. She settles gingerly on a cement block in the corner of the stall and watches him sniff around his new dwelling.

He stops his inspection of the space and turns to look at her. Lowering his head, he comes eye to eye with the girl. She reaches out and rests her hand on his nose. He does not flinch. She begins stroking his muzzle tenderly. He nuzzles her cheek, breathing in her distinctly human scent. She kisses the small pale star on his forehead, and leans her face against his. Stillness.