I am not so young, and I have been working among horses since I was nine years old. But they do not know that.
As she moved through the box, one horse backed up against the wooden rails and began kicking; Romilly noticed the wide rolling eyes, the lips drawn back over the teeth.
“Come out and away from that one, Romilly, he’s a killer – we are thinking of returning him to the Army, who can turn him out to pasture for stud; no one will be able to ride that one – he’s too old for breaking to saddle!” Tina called it anxiously, but Romilly, lost and intent, shook her head.
He is frightened almost to death, no more. But he won’t hurt me.
“Bring me a lead-rope and bridle, Tina. No, you needn’t come into the box if you are afraid, just hand it to me across the rails,” she said. Tina handed it through, her face pale with apprehension, but Romilly, rope in hand, had her eyes only on the black horse.
Well, you beauty, you, do you think we can make friends, then?
The horse backed nervously, but he had stopped kicking. What fool put him into this crowded box, anyhow? Softly, softly, Blackie, 1 won’t hurt you; do you want to go out in the sunshine? She formed a clear image of what she meant to do, and the horse, snorting uneasily, let him pull her head down and slip bridle and lead-rope over it. She heard Tina catch her breath, amazed, but she was so deeply entwined now with the horse that she had no thought to spare for the woman.
“Open the gate,” she said abstractedly, keeping close contact with the mind of the stallion. “That’s wide enough. Come along now, you beautiful black thing. . . . See, if you handle them right, no horse is vicious; they are only afraid, and don’t know what’s expected of them.”
“But you have laran,” said one of the watchers, grudgingly, “We don’t; how can we do what you do?”
“Laran or no,” Romilly said, “if your whole body and every thought in it is stiff with fear, do you expect the horse not to know it, to smell it on you, even? Act as if you trusted the animal, talk to him, make a clear picture in your mind of what you want to do – who knows, they may have some land of laran of their own. And above all, let him know absolutely that you won’t hurt him. He will see and feel it in every movement you make, every breath, if you are afraid of him or if you wish him ill.” She turned her attention back to the horse. “So, now, lovely fellow, we’re going into the sunshine in the paddock . . . come along, now . . . no, not that way, silly, you don’t want to go back in the stable,” she said half aloud, with a little tug on the ropes. In the paddock half a dozen women were running horses in circles on the long lunge-lines, calling to them, and in general keeping the pace smooth. Romilly made a quick check of what was going on – none of them were doing really badly, but then no doubt they had chosen the more docile animals for training first – and found a relatively isolated place of paddock; one or more of the mares might be in season and she did not want him distracted. She backed away on the lunge-line and clucked to him.
He was strong, a big, heavy horse, and for a moment Romilly was almost jerked off her feet as he began to lope, found the line confining him, then explored its limits and began to run in a circle at its limit. She pulled hard and he slowed to a steady walk, around and around. After a little, when she was sure he had the idea, she began to let him move a little faster.
His paces are beautiful; a horse fit for Carolin’s self. Oh, you glorious thing, you!
She let him run for almost an hour, accustoming him to the feeling of the bridle, then called for a bit. He fought it a little, in surprise – Romilly half sympathized with him; she did not much blame him, she did not think she would care to have a cold metal thing forced into her mouth, either.