Chapter 80. Beyond my fondest hopes and dreams, events unfold

After I have chased the last few grains of my morning oats around my feedbox, enjoyed a satisfying draught of freshly-drawn water from my bucket and pulled a few mouthfuls of fragrant hay from my haynet to fill up the corners (as my hobbits are fond of saying), I relax, allow my head to droop, comfortably crook my off-hind leg and fall into a light doze, lulled by the soothing sounds of the grooms' cheerful whistles and occasional songs sung in harmony, the swish of hayforks at work, the light rumble of a wheelbarrow trundling over the flat stones of the centre space, the soft snorts and low-voiced conversations passing between my stablemates and the grooms as harnesses are fitted and buckled on, and the quiet clopping as the plough-beasts depart.

Oddly enough, it is the quiet that has fallen upon the stables that rouses me from a half-dream that threatens to slip beyond my recall as my eyes regain their focus and I lift my head. Something about Our Big Man – in my fast-fading impression of him, he stood firmly enough yet could not prevent himself from swaying with weariness, and his clothing was stiff with blood and dirt, reeking of sustained effort and the sudden intensity of battle, reminding me of his smell after we fought for our lives against the wolves on the hilltop near the Cruel mountain. Grasping at the retreating mists of sleep, I realise that the two younger cousins were also in my dream... which was not a good dream, I understand in hindsight, seeing Youngest's face wet with tears, and his older cousin lying pale and cold and unmoving.

I snort and shake my head, unsettling my mane in my uneasiness. I do not want to think of any of my hobbits... dead. I snort again, trying to dismiss such a dreadful notion. If only I had been there, with them...

It was but a dream, I tell myself fiercely, but I feel no better for the effort.

Ought I be relieved that no glimpse of my Sam or our Master remains within the last shreds of this morning's dream? With a shudder, I let them go.

At Tall Bob's cheery, 'Well now, are we ready for our morning outing?' I awaken fully and lift my head higher, to see light streaming in at the high windows. The day is fair and bright, and the last of the dream dissipates into nothingness. What did I dream? I cannot remember.

I nicker at my tall friend. I don't know about you, but I certainly am ready!

He laughs in reply. 'Shall we wear the halter with the red noseband or the blue one?' he says, assuming a grand tone and bearing.

I move to meet him at the door to my stall as he is working the latch, and push at him gently with my nose as he swings the half-door open. Either or both or none at all! It seems to me a grand riddle, rivalling perhaps the best humour a dwarf pony might offer.

Tall Bob laughs with me. 'Truly we are in fine fettle this day, my beauty!' he says. 'Blue it is, as blue as a summer evening, and won't you look fine!' As he speaks, he buckles the head-collar in place – but then he steps back and closes my stall door. 'I'll be back!' he promises, and nonsensically adds, 'Don't go anywhere, Bill-my-lad!'

All dressed up and no where to go, I think to myself. It is part of a story I have heard one of my hobbits tell, though I do not remember the rest of it. For some reason, the thought of my hobbits brings a shudder of dread, though I have no idea why that might be.

I hear the clopping of pony feet approaching – it must be the visitor from Archet, for all the others are out ploughing by now. I crane my head over my half-door to watch my tall friend approach, leading an older mare who seems strangely familiar to my eyes.

When they reach my door, Tall Bob chuckles and says to me, 'Good on you for choosing the blue! I do believe the red noseband suits my Lady very well indeed...!'

As if to dispute that thought, the mare plants her feet and stands firm, tossing her head. I cannot tell if she is uneasy or merely startled...

And then, just as I hear the latch on my door click open, her smell reaches me. Without thinking, I charge the half-door, unfortunately knocking the groom from his feet as my rush thrusts the door wide in passing. 

'Hoi!' I hear his belated shout.

But I pay him no mind. For my dam and I begin by whickering and tossing our heads but soon settle to mumbling and rubbing our faces against each other's necks in turn. 

How...?

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. You are here now, and so am I... But then, my dam has always been the wisest pony I have ever known.

'A joyous reunion...!' Tall Bob is murmuring, his eyes sparkling and his mouth stretched wide in a grin, though he remains sprawled on the stones a moment more, propped up on his elbows to watch us, before he scrambles to his feet. It is just as well. Neither of us, my dam or myself, would intentionally trample him, but in the joy of the present moment, anything might happen. And causing accidental injury to our kind helper would mar the brightness of the moment for certain.

Once he has reclaimed my dam's lead rope and snapped a lead onto my head-collar, Tall Bob re-establishes his dignity. He bows first to my dam and then to me. 'My Lady,' he says grandly. 'If I may present to you Bill – also known hereabouts as "Poppet" – a hero of the Breeland!'

Hero! my dam says, eyes opening wide in startlement. My dear lad! What have you been doing with yourself since last we grazed together, I should like to know!

I duck my head, suddenly overcome by a rush of memories. It is all so fantastic, would she even believe half of my story, I wonder?

But she nibbles gently at my neck. I've heard some of it, she says. My brave lad. I am so very proud of you.

***