Storymania - The Old Horse by Joan Bentley

The Old Horse
Joan Bentley

The old horse awoke with a snort, lifting himself off the wall, opening his eyes.
Standing straight in his stall, he stretched his legs, shook his head, his thinning mane billowing.
Snorting again in surprise, feeling the strength in his legs, the strength in his back,
the strength that he remembered from an earlier life.

HIS life certainly, but so far back in ages past that he had forgotten.
Forgotten how good it felt, how good it felt to be young and strong, alert and anxious.
Anxious to get to work, to run, to eat, to lead the team down the road and perform their tasks,
to move through the village in the early morning hours, tall and proud.

The old horse snorted again, bucking in his stall, tossing his head.
Whinnying loud and long to get the driver's attention, as he had in times gone by.
Banging hard on the door to his stall with his fetlocks, he tried to wake the other, younger horses,
anxious to be off, to get to work, to pull the wagon as he had for so many years.

But something was different this morning, the old horse knew, something had changed.
His strength returned, the power of his youth, for how long he knew not, nor did he care.
Some gift of Equus perhaps?? Or like the tree which, the year before it's death, will leave in full,
in all its magnificent glory, one last time, before the fall.

The old horse did not question his strength, his sudden gift.
He simply accepted it, reveled in it, leaping and jumping in his stall, the other horses wondering.
The driver noticed as well, standing to marvel in the old horse's doorway, a sudden thought occurring, remembering another time, another place, but still the same steed.

"Well, I'll be..!! Old man!!" he said aloud. "I think I'll let you lead today!"
The old horse bobbed his head and snorted again, remembering the words, and what they meant.
He pushed hard against his stall door, anxious to be out, anxious to do what he had done for so long,
anxious to lead the team again, one last time, before this gift ran out.

The stableboys pulled all the horses from their stalls, leading them to water, to oats and hay.
Not much for now, the big meal for after, after they had pulled today's load.
The large wagon, just outside, filled with corn and wheat and barley, must be pulled through the town,
up the steep hill on the other side, and off to a nearby village to the east.

The meal finished, the driver sorted the horses to the harness, confusion reigning.
The other horses shifting, trying to anticipate their places, sensing something amiss, something different.
Their normal leader trying to move to the front, the driver shooing him back, they, stunned and amazed,
seeing who he was moving to the head of the line, to lead the team today...the old one.

The stableboys looked at each other, the other horses as well...the old one?
But there he stood, seeming strong and tall, the driver fitting the lead harness around his shoulders.
The stableboys laughed then, the younger horses whinnying as if in agreement,
none of them old enough to remember that other time, that other place.

"Hurry up, lads!" the driver barked. "Can't you see he's anxious to be off?!?"
And so he was, the old horse, standing at the front, snorting and pawing at the ground, ready to go.
As the boys arranged and harnessed the rest of the team, the other horses looked at each other,
wondering what had happened, what had gotten into the old stallion.

They winked and nodded at each other, a silent agreement, to have some fun.
Let the old one lead if he could, but they would hold back, they would see how much he had left.
That agreed, they settled down, awaiting their orders, watching as the old male continued to snort,
to toss his head, to waste his energy before the long mornings work had even started.

The old horse knew none of this, only knowing what he felt pulsing through him, impatient to start.
Wanting to test himself, a bit afraid that his powers would not last, the old horse waited.
He jerked as the driver suddenly grabbed his nose harness, leading the whole team out of the barn,
out to the big wagon, having almost forgotten about it, the other horses smiling.

As horse and harness were attached to wagon, the old horse suddenly became very still.
He stared out of the barnyard and down the road towards the nearby village, his body frozen.
He had made this trip a thousand times, in the lead and in the rear, knowing the way by heart,
knowing which loads go to which village, knowing the one today, to the big village to the east.

He stood there tall and silent, every muscle tense, still staring off into the distance.
The other horses fidgeting, self adjusting their harness, preparing for today's slow trudge.
Slow they knew, because of who was in the lead, seeing how he stood there so still and old,
wondering when he would falter...in the village or on the long hill on the other side of it.

Everything ready, everything prepared, the driver pulled himself up into the wagon's seat.
Seeing his lead so still, he cried out, "Show them what you've got, old man!", breaking his trance.
Taking the reins and waving to the gathered stableboys, a big smile on his face,
the driver snapped them and cried out, "EEEYAAAA...EEEYAAAA!", to start him off.

And start he did, the old horse anticipating the cry, surging hard, taking the entire load himself.
The other horses smiling, seeing the old one's anxious attack, laying back a bit, letting him work.
They glanced at each other, winking, barely moving their feet, barely pulling at all,
wondering if their old leader would even make it to the village now, his effort so great.

The old horse surged again, old but not weak, a big horse, a once-powerful, superior horse.
His old legs full of their youthful strength again, his old back once more straight and strong, he pulled.
His shoulders straining, his hooves digging the ground, his breath surrounding his head,
clouds of white effort in the still cold dawn, he pulled.

The other horses still smirking, barely helping, ready to start now though, not wanting the old man hurt.
Watching his awesome effort, the muscles of his large, proud body straining and driving.
Impressed in spite of themselves, then stunned as the load begins to shift, the wagon begins to move,
a thing unheard of for a wagon so large, for a load so big, they leap to join him.

Flinging their weight against their harness, digging in as well, the other six horses begin to drive now.
Impressed beyond measure at the old one's act of strength, of courage, they charge after him.
Proud horses all, they will match his effort, they will show him that they can pull, they can work,
they can follow wherever he goes. If he can lead, they will follow. They are a team.

The old driver smiles, knowing that he was right today, but still not quite sure why.
No reason to chuck the reins, the big wagon moving almost too fast already, reaching the farmhouse.
Waving to the owner, his boss, who waves back and looks at him with amused wonder,
seeing who is in the lead, seeing an old friend at the front of the team.

The team and wagon reach the road, the old horse knowing which way to go, turning them to the left.
They head for the first village at a rapid rate, their snorting breaths surrounding them like a white fog.
The driver sits back, pleased with their efforts, afraid, in fact, that they are going too fast,
that they will never endure to make the second village, that the old horse will fade soon.

He does nothing though, sensing something magical on this cold, crisp morning, something beyond him.
The returned strength and power of the great old horse possibly a reward for services past.
"Who am I to mess with such things, such gifts?" he thought, chucking the reins lightly once,
giving the old horse his head, showing the old horse that the team is completely his to lead.

And the old horse does lead...as he had in those ages long past, that time long gone, he leads.
Pulling strongly, confidently, his pace steady, his gait firm, with sureness of step, he leads.
Pulling the team along, the other horses following eagerly, driving hard, they move forward,
the first village rapidly approaching as they make their way towards their final destination.

Entering the village at a fast clip, the sounds of their passing changes as they hit the cobblestone streets.
The old horse in front, his head held so high, they move through the town, the people stopping to stare.
Little children on their way to school gape, old shopkeepers opening up for the day turn to watch,
waving at the driver, calling out to the horses, many recognizing the great horse in the lead.

Onward they travel through the village, the old horse still pulling strongly, indefatigable today.
His heart racing but strong, the old horse fills with pride, doing that which he was bred to do.
As they clear the last of the cobblestone streets and the village itself, he raises his head high to neigh,
to call out his triumph at the passing of this first test, the other horses following suit.

The driver smiles, sensing that he is witnessing a small miracle, that things will be alright today.
He gives the left rein a tug, knowing it is not needed, the old horse knowing which way to turn.
And turn he does, even before the command, skillfully guiding the team...his team...to the east,
onto the road to the next village, looking forward at the steep hill ahead, awaiting the challenge.

The other horses see it too, too involved in their own efforts now to smile, knowing they will now see.
They will now see if their leader is for real, if he still has what it takes, if this is truly a miracle.
Reaching the bottom of the hill, the old horse snorts, raising his head to peer up at the summit,
knowing this is the real test, but confident and strong still, accepting the power of his gift.

With a whinny and a toss of his head the old horse surges as the hill begins, his stride never wavering.
His heart beating wildly, he feels his strength, feels it well up within him, and does not slacken his pace.
The other horses are stunned, struggling to keep up now, their heads down, letting the old one pull them,
using his strength now to buttress their own, accepting him completely as their leader.

Up the steep hill they move, the old horse and his team, like a perfect machine, enveloped in his miracle.
Their effort sustained, their drive undiminished, they move toward the crest, faster than they ever have.
Nearing the top, the old horse neighs again, once again in triumph, but now in something else...
in a call of thanks to whomever for whatever he has been given today, and in a cry of joy.

The old horse leads on, the steep hill and the ravages of time beaten back, still striding strong and proud.
Accepting this gift, rejoicing in it, not caring if there is a tomorrow for it, simply thankful for this day.
His heart full of remembrances, of memories of glories past, new glories being created even as he walks,
leading the team, leading them well, directing his load down the road, and into the rising sun. directing his load down the road, and into the rising sun.