Chapter 31. Wonders on wings

A quick glance reveals my companion, the great horse, still lost in mourning, bowed to the ground as if held down by the terrible weight of grief. Tall Hat is dead, and we are on our own, left to our own devices, and under attack by a crowd of rogue Men who seem to be travelling in the same direction as we are – were, up until a short time ago... They want a pony to pull their cart, it seems.

It is my intention, should they capture me, to make them pay dearly for the privilege of not pulling the cart themselves, the lazy scoundrels! 

Though vastly outnumbered, I am holding my own, but I am tiring... and now we all seem to be under attack from the sky! I hear more than see the piercing screams of a fearsome bird of prey, the flapping of mighty wings, the outcries of the Men surrounding me evincing rage and pain... 

I pause in consternation to take my bearings and adjust my strategy as needed – eagles have been known to carry away deer and even sheep, or so I have been told. What chance would a pony have? But then one of the rogues, greatly daring, almost manages to settle the loop of a rope over my head.

Just in time, I duck my head and shy away from him and his rope. I kick out at him for good measure, landing a glancing blow that, nonetheless, elicits a yelp from the rotter.

I plant my front hoofs and kick hard at the ruffians pressing close to my hindquarters – only to connect with air.

Suspecting some new trick, I whirl... and realise I am alone, except for my companion, who remains a little distance away, still as motionless as the stone trolls I can dimly remember.

My blood is up, my pulse pounding in my ears, my breath whistling in and out, my muscles quivering. I scan my surroundings for foes...

There they are! ...but stumbling away now, in the direction they came from, some of them flailing with their clubs and others holding their arms in the air above their heads as if to hide from the terrible onslaughts of the giant raptor following them, driving them with apparent purpose...

(And so my initial impression, that the fearful creature was attacking all of us, was mistaken. I breathe a sigh of relief even as I watch the rout progress.)

Soon, I realise these foul Men are not running back in the direction they came from, not exactly. They may have started out trying to escape to this "cart" of theirs that they repeatedly mentioned whilst trying to subdue me to their will. 

But rather like a large, brown sheepdog with the power of flight, the enormous bird is herding them! Forcing them to turn more and more in the direction we all came from... in a southerly direction, if I am remembering right, and we have been travelling almost directly northwards since parting with my Friend the brown wizard.

If a bird could be said to have a purpose, I could imagine that this bird – such a small word for such a gigantic creature! – is directing the ruffians in such a way that they will end up behind us. We ought to be able to keep ahead of them... if my companion remembers how to use his legs, of course. I can only hope...

I move to the great horse's side and lay my cheek against his, not difficult to do with his head bowed to the ground. I am here, I say. You are not alone. It is very much what I have heard the Voices say in reassurance to me, many times, over the miles I have travelled since leaving the Company behind.

It is all I can think to do. If Tall Hat gave the great horse Voices, as he gave me, and my Voices have deserted me at the grey wizard's death, then perhaps I can offer some sort of comfort; hardly words of guard and guiding, for I am no wizard. But I can seek to fill the emptiness within – for myself as well as the great horse – and apply the learning I have acquired on this long journey There and Back Again (as the Old Pet likes to say), even though I am not quite sure where Back might be found or what it may turn out to be.

The only thing that I am sure of is that Back will never turn out to be my old broken-down shed. Like a butterfly leaving its chrysalis behind (my dam explained to me long ago how caterpillars become butterflies as we watched one such creature spin a shelter and, some time later, emerge transformed), my old misery's shed will no longer fit me. I have grown beyond its limited capacity somehow, though I have not the words to explain.

I am here. You are not alone. We are together.

***