Runaway by Dandi Daley Mackall Read Free Book Online Page A

she’d live. She was scared of everything because she couldn’t see what was coming at her.”
    “And now?”
    “Now she’s spook-proof. I can ride her in a parade and she won’t shy.” Hank cleans her back hooves, then returns to her head. “I couldn’t ask for a better horse.”
    “Hank!” Guinevere shouts from the pen. I can only imagine how her horse hates that shrill shout.
    Hank grins at me. “Better go.”
    “Are you doing this as a favor to Guinevere?” I ask, wondering how he could stand to have her around.
    “Kind of. Partly for the fee her dad pays. We use it to run the Rescue. I guess I’m mostly doing it for Lancelot, though. I’m afraid they’ll sell him at auction, and who knows where he’ll end up? The Rescue is his last chance.”
    “Hank!” Guinevere’s shout has turned to a whine.
    Hank leaves the stall, letting me stay where I am. I can’t believe he’s not afraid I’ll hurt his horse. I stay with the mare for quite a while, hoping Guinevere will be gone when I come out.
    No such luck. When I walk up the barn aisle, I see her hanging all over Hank while he tries to explain something about Lancelot. I slip around to the other aisle, out of sight, and tiptoe past the stalls.
    When I get to the end, I hear Guinevere’s laugh. It sounds like she’s coming toward me. I duck into the nearest stall.
    “She’s probably gone back to the house, Hank,” Guinevere says. “I can’t believe your parents would take on another foster kid, especially one who’s so old.”
    “It’ll be fine,” Hank says.
    “Fine, then. But come on back. I don’t have all day.”
    I hear footsteps walking away and Hank saying something I can’t make out.
    The stalls on this side of the barn aren’t as bright as the other side. It takes my eyes a second to adjust. When I glance behind me, I see a dark shadow. My hand flies to my mouth to keep me from screaming.
    It’s a horse, huddled in the far corner of the stall. He’s black—the blackest black I’ve ever seen—without a white hair on him. Black as fire, I think, although I know fire isn’t black. Somehow it fits, though. I stare at him. He’s taller than Starlight, but leaner. Not a quarter horse. His muscles ripple on his neck and rump. I think he’s quivering. He’s scared.
    “Hey, Blackfire,” I whisper. “It’s only me. I’m a lot more scared than you are.”
    The horse doesn’t move, and neither do I. But I can’t stop staring at him. Then he cranes his neck around and looks right at me. Maybe right through me. Popeye’s words come back to me, the way he said he could feel the woodpecker’s tapping in his soul. That’s where I feel the beauty of this horse.
    I don’t know how long we stand like that. Finally Blackfire lifts his hoof and sets it down in my direction. Then the other hoof. And little by little, he makes his way across the stall until he’s inches from me.
    I don’t move, but it has nothing to do with fear. I don’t want him to go away. His ears flick back and forth, but they don’t go flat back like Lancelot’s did.
    He stretches out his neck until his nose, his muzzle, brushes against my arm. I shiver inside. It feels like velvet. His nostrils go in and out, getting big, then smaller, as he takes in my scent. I drink in his scent too. He nuzzles me, moving his muzzle along my arm, up my shoulder to my head.
    I remember reading once that horses use their noses as fingers, touching their world and checking it out. I think we should all have muzzles. I close my eyes as he nuzzles my face and shares his warm breath.
    I blow back, right into his nostrils. He returns the favor. I reach out slowly and touch his neck. It’s soft and smooth. I move my hand up his neck until I reach his jaw. As I scratch his jaw, he sticks out his chin and closes his eyes to half-mast. If there’s a heaven, it must be like this.
    “Now where are you going?” Guinevere’s sharp voice startles both of us.
    Blackfire retreats to