A shiver passed through Meg. She started toward the river
anyway. The horse turned her head toward the interloper, and for a
moment Meg worried that she would startle it away. Then the gentle
eyes looked right through her, and Meg felt as if the horse could see
to her soul. Now that she was close, Meg could see that there were
flowers woven into the mare’s mane. She had obviously been
swimming in the river because the mane was dripping with pure river
water.
Feeling more comfortable, Meg stepped closer. The horse’s eyes
seemed luminous in the early morning light. It felt like a magical
moment when she held her hand out and gently brushed the horse.
She was surprised to find the skin cold. There was no warmth in the
flesh, but perhaps she was being fanciful. Of course, if the horse had
been wading through the river, it followed that her skin would be
cold.
The horse snickered. It was a sweet sound. She shook her head
and gracefully leaned down, as though inviting Meg to mount her.
“Okay, but I gotta warn you, I’m not very good at this.” The horse
shook her mane. Suddenly, Meg knew the horse wanted her to haul
herself up this way. “I hope this doesn’t hurt.”
Meg wrapped her fingers in the mane, noting the flowers seemed
to be attached to weeds in some places. She managed to get her leg
over the horse’s back and was pleased when she got into an upright
position.
“Piece of cake,” she muttered to herself. Her hands were shaking
as she tried to pull them out of the mane to get a better hold. “Take
me back to my husband.”
Her hands seemed stuck in the coarse hairs. Meg pulled, but they
didn’t budge. She tried to shift her legs. They held fast to the horse’s
flesh.