A Horse Called Hero by Sam Angus Read Free Book Online

perfect.’ He unlatched the door, shoving it
with his shoulder to force it open. Inside, old straw, dirtied by birds, covered the earth ground. A stack of old logs was piled high in one corner, rough kindling in another.
    ‘I haven’t got a blanket.’
    ‘Then your jumper, take it off. And you’ll need tinned milk for tonight.’ Ned gathered together scattered straw with his feet. ‘Clean enough,’ he said, kicking it
over and heaping it up. Wolfie hovered at his side. Ned crouched and laid Hero down.
    ‘Scratch him on his neck, see, that’s what she would have done. If you an’t got a syringe, use your finger, but he’ll be needing the honey.’
    ‘Honey. Egg. Water. Condensed milk,’ said Wolfie.
    ‘Aye, an’ cod-liver oil if you got it,’ said Ned, fluffing up the bedding.
    ‘He’s called Hero,’ whispered Wolfie to Dodo.
    From the door Ned bid them ‘Good luck’. He paused and looked up over his shoulder, listening. There was a throbbing and droning sound. ‘More load-shedding tonight,’ he
said, grimacing. ‘On their way back – they’ve been bombing Bristol or Swansea.’ They looked at him, uncomprehending. ‘German bombers lighten their load over us on
their way ’ome.’ Ned grinned. ‘Good luck with ’un.’
    Wolfie looked at Dodo. ‘There’s honey in Mrs Sprig’s larder,’ he said.

Chapter Seven
    Mrs Sprig’s door opened. Halfway down the stairs, Wolfie froze, shrinking against the oak panelling, heart thumping.
    Dodo stepped into the dim light of the landing. ‘It’s only me,’ she said, ‘going to fetch a glass of water.’
    ‘Fetch it then, and I’ll wait.’ Mrs Sprig hugged her bedjacket to herself, her face pinched with anxiety at the irregular and unpredictable movements of children.
    ‘Yes.’ Dodo motioned with a hand behind her back for Wolfie to go, then walked on down the landing, heavily, to cover any noise he might make.
    Clinging to the shadow, he crept down. In the boot room he picked up his coat, then the basket Dodo had prepared, a blanket placed carefully over the top.
    Pressed against the wall of the porch, Wolfie considered the distance across the yard to the gate. He shrugged his coat on over his pyjamas. If he kept to this side of the yard, kept to the wall
of the house, he’d get to the gate without being seen. He waited for Dodo, peering out into the black and silver night, straining to hear any movement from the house. From inside he heard
first one door shut, then the sound of a second.
    ‘She’s not coming,’ he whispered to himself.
    He stretched out a hand behind him and pulled the door softly to, without latching it.
    He tiptoed along two walls of the yard, then out through the gate. On the lane he broke into a run, pebbles clinging between bare toes, the ground already wet with dew. The way here was shrouded
by trees, the darkness thickening where the track swung down over the stream. Wolfie stopped, unnerved, heart pounding, wishing Dodo were with him, hoping she’d come. He breathed deeply in,
deeply out, to calm himself.
Hero.
Hero was up there, alone and hungry. Wolfie set off again at a run, the basket bumping against his side, only the twinkling of a tiny runnel giving him
something to follow. The path began to climb. He looked up into the overarching trees. A spray of stars hung between the silvery branches, as though caught in a net.
    ‘I’m coming, Hero, I’m coming, and I’ve got everything you need,’ Wolfie was whispering. ‘Honey, milk, egg.’
    He pushed open the door.
    The slender grey body was sprawled on the straw. Hero made as if to rise, starting with fear, but sank down, tremulous and weak. Wolfie crouched beside him, spilling the basket in his hurry. He
inched a hand towards the narrow, dappled neck.
    ‘
Scratch, Wolfie, scratch their necks. That’s what they do to each other. They don’t like pats
,’ Pa had said when he’d taken them to the stables of his
barracks.
    Wolfie ran his hand down a