Phase 2 - Start of Something New

Somhairle Callanach would be lying if he said he had a plan for this horse.

The decision to take on the bay mare had been spontaneous. There was no preparation, no plan, to blueprint he could even follow. Just a horse with a set of awfully questionable issue. Now, the young man sat perched upon the old fence, lips pursed as he watched the mare graze calmly in the distance, frustration simmering in his dark brown eyes. He had ridden her. Once. And to say it had been a mess had been a serious understatement. How was one meant to fix a horse who was dead to the leg, ignored the bit, forgot about the functionality of her legs, and only seemed to care for bright coloured objects?! Even then, Somhairle used the word ‘care’ lightly. His best-friend watched the rodeo, all too entertained by his misery. Still, her bright laugh echoed in his head, the memory of the redheaded girl nearly doubling over as she watched him get taking off on still fresh in her mind. ‘Maybe you should take a step back, instead of rushing her’ she said, tears welling in her eyes from amusement.

A sigh escaped the young man, his hands tightening around the old rope halter that he had been holding as the loud truck of the farrier pulled into the barn’s driveway, the loud, obnoxious crunching of gravel announcing the presence that Somhairle had been waiting for. The farrier had been a kind man. Older, his age lingering somewhere in his sixties. But he did honest work. He shod horses responsibly, and in an odd way, he had been a master of his craft. Never had Somhairle, or his father have an issue with a horses feet after ‘Old Man Archie’ (as they dubbed him) worked his magic. His feet struck the earth as he jumped off of the old rickety fence, approaching the bay mare. Angelina, as he called her. Though, in reality, he wasn’t exactly sure if the name would stick. Angelina was more of a… human name. In fact, it felt a little too human for his taste. Still, the mare’s ears pricked up, her abnormal black tail swishing once as he approached her. “Farrier’s here.” he muttered, slinging the rope over the tall horse’s neck. She blinked kindly, her eyes holding an odd glimmer that Somhairle couldn’t quite put his finger on. He could only hope that it hadn’t been mischief. “You’ll behave right? No decking the farrier today yeah?”

The mare snorted quietly, following after the young man. Every few steps, her fetlocks buckled, tripping ever so slightly as she followed after him, eyes and ears on full alert. Perhaps the farrier visit was long overdo. Old Man Archie had been a kind man. Gruff and intimidating, yet a kind old soul. “Is this the one who trips?” he grumbled, setting aside his metal tools before tightening the thick leather apron. Somhairle nodded once, more in greeting rather than an agreement. “Mhm. Figured it might be something to do with bad hoof care. Oddly enough though… they seem fine.” he answered watching as Archie set up the hoof stand, waving a hand to motion Somhairle and the mare forward. He clucked, giving the lead rope a gentle tug. For as nasty as the mare’s saddle manners were, she sure knew how to behave well on the ground. The farrier let out a grunt, gruff and rough. Well. He supposed the message was well received.

The mare’s ears flicked back once as the older man propped her foot on top of the hoof stand. She only stood nervously for a few moments before relaxing, the tension melting away from her muscles as Old Man Archie examined her feet. Somhairle took a step back, crossing his arms. Partially for safety, partially out of respect for the farrier wanting his space. A few quiet hums escaped his lips as he inspected the mare’s hooves. Her head turned towards the older man, giving a few, good solid sniffs as he assessed the damage. His thumbs took a good feel her hooves, brows furrowing slightly as he finally came to a conclusion. “Well it's nae wunner she's trippin'. The soles o' her hoof are too thin.” he said at last, straightening up as he reached for the old metal nippers. Somhairle blinked, expression dropping slightly as he faced the mare. “Ah.” he uttered, watching as the old man cracked his back before finally leaning forward. He’d be lying if he said he knew what that meant. Besides treating abscesses, his hoof care knowledge had been rather minimal. “So… do we fix this?… Exactly?..” Archie patted her shoulder once, giving her a respectful warning. “She'll need tae have shoes. At least fer a wee while till they harden.”

Right. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? He pursed his lips, approaching the horse from the front. The mare blinked, her tail giving another swish as Somhairle’s hand found itself on her forehead, giving her one gentle stroke as Archie got to work. “He’ll fix you up now. You’ll get a nice pair of shoes, and you won’t have to worry about tripping.” he murmured, his voice softer now as a small smile found itself on his lips. This had been only the first step for Angelina. But if a pair of shoes was all she needed to stop tripping? Then perhaps this was a good start. A huff escaped her nose, her head held up steadily as she cast an occasional glance in the farrier’s direction. It hadn’t been that the didn’t trust the old man… Well. No. She didn’t trust him. Not completely. But the way that this human spoke to her made her believe that the old days were now, indeed, in the past.

It had only taken Old Man Archie an hour to finish shoeing the bay mare. “Gie it a few days. If the trippin’s no gone in a week or two, just gie's a ring.” he grunted, giving the horse a good pat on the shoulder. Somhairle nodded once, glancing at the mare. “Will do. Here, let me turn her out, and I’ll give you what I owe.” he said, pointing towards the nearby field. Archie hadn’t answered. Just grunted once more. Somhairle pursed his lips. Well. He would just assume that he was alright with it then. He picked up a step, giving the mare a gentle tug. At first, her steps were unsure, the weight of the new shoes foreign to her. Yet… as she began to walk, slowly, her steps began to adopt a surety she didn’t have before. Somhairle noticed. The mare no longer avoided the gravel, her walk far more forward that it had been for the past two weeks. He couldn’t fight the grin that slowly tugged at his lips.

Yet nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. His hand reached for the field gate, his old, rusty hinged creaking loudly as he led the mare inside. “Alright Angie…” he muttered, his calloused hands working at the rope halter, letting it slip from her face, “Don’t throw a shoe now that you have them—“ The mare blinked. Once, then twice. Then, without warning, she broke into a powerful gallop, ears pricked upwards in excitement as her feet carried her forward. Her fetlocks didn’t buckle, her knees didn’t waver. The young man took a step back, watching in pure awe as she experienced her first taste of true, unwavering freedom. Suddenly, she skidded to a halt, watching him from a distance before letting out a loud, completely uncontrolled whinny. And for that moment alone, Somhairle swore that, if horses could smile? She had just done so. A small, amused sigh escaped his lips. “Yeah.” he said, closing the field gate behind him, “You’re welcome.”