Black Storm

By Anna Esther Pearl

A black colt, born on the raw and rugged landscape, faces terror and abandonment after a storm leaves him trapped in a deep canyon, left behind by his dam and herd as they ran for their lives. When Joey, an eleven-year-old boy, rescues him and sends him on his way, it is only the beginning . . . or was it only a dream?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543998245

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Black Storm

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities or semblances to actual people, places, events, or actions, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2018 under pseudonym Anna Esther Pearl

All rights reserved under international Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including electronic or digital means, storage and retrieval systems, recording, or future means of reproduction, without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-54399-823-8

Ebook: 978-1-54399-824-5

Author: Anna Esther Pearl

Cover Art & Design: Micah Keeley

Cover Title Font: Southern Aire

font creator: Mans Greback

licence owner: Micah Keeley M9798560

Published by BookBaby

To the horses in my life—past and present.

Chance

Thistle

Irving Baby and the thoroughbreds at Turf Paradise Race Track

The thoroughbreds at Boronia Farm

The uncounted horses at Moon Valley Ranch

especially,

Harley, Andy, Remi, Squiggy, Miss Bing, Cameo, George,

Graham, Paloma, Balou, Tinker, King, Baby, Ben, Tsunami, Sheba, Sassy, Bodhi, Sonador, Fiddle, Pepper, Montana, Caballo, Chief,

Charley, Smokey, Avalon, Hondo,

Chogie and Maui

and of course, dear Leila.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to my dad, who bought my first horse, and to my mom, who surely influenced him.

I thank my children, who are my greatest impetus to create.

Thanks to my husband, who knows my passions, for he knows his own.

I thank my editor, Debbie Ward, once again. Elegant wisdom along with deft strokes, clarity, direction, kind suggestions and honest appraisals, are but an inkling of her gifts to me.

Thanks to Jane Morris, my past counsel, and Cypress, my past past counsel, and Laura, forever.

Gratitude to the writers I met at the Louden Nelson Community Center who listened and encouraged, especially Carol, Joyce, Judy, Shelley, Iverne, Barbara, Alex, Beverly, Joanne, Joyce K., Beth, and Harvey.

Appreciation to the talented critique group members, Chris Goddard, Mary Flodin, Vinnie Hansen, Rick Parfitt, Rachel Pfotenhauer, Lynda Scott, and Cheri Wells.

I have dear people in my life who encourage my writing. This means a great deal to me. So, thank you, Bethany, Clay, Richard, Belinda, Jack, Rennie, Marca, Anita, Bryan, Sonia, Leslie, Bob, and Yana.

Thank you to the horses.

Also written by Anna Esther Pearl

June: A Modern Tale

Ruby

Every horse is a teacher

Contents

PART ONE

PART TWO

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

PART THREE

Anna Esther Pearl

PART ONE

It was one of those smothering black nights that feel like burial—no moonlight and not a single star shining where the sky would be, if the sky could be seen. This was not any serene darkness, though. No. The sound was deafening and wild. Mighty winds tore through the canyons, ferociously screaming and whistling through their steep walls.

Over the shrill, screeching wind and the roar of cottonwoods being stripped of leaves and bark, the black colt could barely hear the thundering of the herd’s panicked stampede through the narrow river bed. He was caught in a rush of heaving, hot bodies and legs flying all around him, with the whip of mane and tail adding to his terror, as his body was slammed and pushed and hurtled forward.

It seemed endless, this maddened running. The black colt could not know where his dam was, nor any of the other colts and fillies he’d cavorted with only some hours earlier. He hadn’t picked up on the nervous twitches of the lead mares, or the unease of the high-flying ravens earlier that day, when the sky had still been blue and clouds passed quickly. He could not have foreseen this storm-driven night that sent all of the horses running—with the first crack of lightning splitting the scraggly trees that overshadowed the watering hole where they had nestled, closely bunched together.

That first jolt had instantly startled them, but now, as they galloped, the world seemed to fly faster than they themselves. The very sky was erupting with great flashes of white light, and piercing cracks of thunder echoed off the cliffs like the strikes of a thousand hammers.

As his legs were pulled more rapidly than his body, the black colt, his head in the air, straining to capture his breath and perhaps the scent of his mother, felt himself go down, tumbling beneath the frantic legs of all the horses coming from behind. Some jumped over him as they sensed his body, but for others it was nothing they could counter, and he felt the trampling as he rolled over and over, end over end, in the swirling dirt, pelted by rocks being propelled all around him, until, with a wrenching thud, he was brutally seized and bent around the trunk of a small scrub tree jutting out of the side of the canyon wall.

When the black colt woke, some hours later, it was frighteningly still. The pitch black night prevailed, but the wind had lessened and was only whining now, like the seasonal coyote calls he had heard in the first few months on his legs. The sky was no longer opening up with flashes of lightning, and the thunder was only heard as a distant rumble. The worst sensation though, was the absolute stillness of the ground on which he lay. There were no vibrations, no pulse from horses’ hooves running.

The black colt shook his head, dust and rocks splattering off him. He tried to rise but his legs were braided into the branches of the tree that had caught him. He wrestled and scuffled, but in his own weakness, gave in and lay still. He dropped into exhausted sleep with his heart pounding the message: I am alone. I am all alone.

Hours later he woke again to a wisp of morning light eking over the high red canyon walls that surrounded him. He felt the soreness of his bludgeoned body, and again tried to right himself on his spindly, badly bruised legs. He was enveloped in the tangle of branches, and it was not himself alone that had been captured by this scrubby tree, but branches of other trees, blown and twined into it. He was trapped. He tried again to fight and get free, but soon found only a despair that he had never known before. He could lift his head only slightly, twisting it in several directions to see around him. It was as if everything had been uprooted and heaved into deformed piles all along the canyon floor. Only the straight red walls seemed familiar. He saw the first shadows on the far side and knew the sun would soon start its travel across the sky that he could only glimpse a sliver of overhead. The black colt again lay still.

The sun arrived as a sparkle at the top of the cliffs above him; streaming rays of light extended like yellow darts as he squinted up painfully into the narrow stretch of sky. The heat began to build, and his small, black, furry body was heating up with it. He tasted a sour dryness in his mouth and thought about the watering hole where all of the horses drank their fill as they grazed along the shallow desert draws.

He remembered his mother’s intimate teats providing the suckle milk that filled his belly richly and warmly–her nuzzling his croup as he nursed. He could almost hear her munching the sweet grasses she chose, and blowing her nose of the dust that was included. She would nicker at him, speaking mother to son.

He thought of the other foals, some older, some younger, and the games they had played–running, jumping, and wrestling with one another. How, when the heat of the day brought laziness, they would gather behind some of the larger horses and relax in the shade of their bodies. Sometimes the young ones groomed one another, using their lips to massage their fellows as they would want to be massaged.

The black colt grew weaker, hungrier, and thirstier as the sun filled the streak of sky between cliff tops above him. He was sweating, aching, and too tired to deal with the flies that incessantly harassed him. The day grew on, and as his condition worsened he still felt no vibrations of the ground, still heard no familiar sound of hoofbeats or whinnies. His eyelids drooped and the parched tip of his tongue slid out beyond his muzzle. He caught a glimpse of a couple of ravens dipping through the canyon, assessing the surroundings and changes, and once he heard the screech of a hawk, sounding perturbed as it soared far above the newly mangled floor of the canyon.

The day drove on with relentless light, heat and flies. The black colt could do nothing to get away from its torment. He lay still, his breath shallow, the sides of his belly rising and falling on his constantly hungry stomach. He closed his eyes with what seemed like fatal exhaustion. He no longer moved.

When he came around next, the canyon floor was all in shade, the sun had passed from one cliff side to the other, and the white-blue sky was showing tinges of pink and peach. The black colt knew the day was ending and he knew he was still where he had been since last night.

He recalled the previous day. It had been hot and somehow very still, though generous clouds had whisked across the sky in the late afternoon. By evening the winds had begun to strengthen, sending tumbleweed and debris across the desert floor. The herd, his herd, had moved nearer the canyons and pocketed at a watering hole under a sheltering ash grove. They had all huddled together more closely than usual, he remembered now.

His mother had nickered for his attendance often, even though he had been standing next to her. He had nursed longer, assuring her that he was right there. She had allowed it, with more constant nudges, like an encouragement to eat to full. There had been little play by the end of that day as all of the foals and nursing mares seemed to be going through the same behaviors. The stallion had stood apart, out from under the trees, and the look-out mares had seemed more nervous and watchful.

That was yesterday, and now he had lain here clutched in this tree through the night, and for all of this day.

As the sky went through its purpling, a few stars becoming visible above, the black colt knew of a frigid night coming on. Would it bring the terror that he had experienced last night? Would he face it alone, lying here helpless to get away? He could not be sure. He was sweating with this anxiety more than he had sweated with the day’s heat.

The sun was waning now, twilight had morphed into a rich, dark azure and the canyon cliffs were losing their distinct silhouette. With the cooling temperature, the black colt found some latent strength to try lifting himself once again. He struggled and struggled, heaving and twisting, bending and flailing his spindly legs as much as possible. He tried over and over with renewed strength from the cold. Alas, he was still held by the twisted, gnarled tapestry of the tree. He could do no more.

Night came on tense and black. There was rich beauty in that stark sky above, where brilliant stars were sequin gems on a black velvet cloth. He heard an owl in the distance with a solitary voice that seemed like the thread that would sew the stars to the fabric of night. The black colt lay still except for his shivering–for cold, or for fear, or for both.

Deep in the night he woke again with a gnawing unease. He must have been hearing the coyotes in his sleep and he realized their cries were getting closer. Yips and howls that had seemed to come from above the cliff tops now sounded as if they were traveling down through the canyon where he lay trapped. Wild fear pounded in his chest and the whites of his eyes showed when he lifted his head, trying desperately to look in some direction. This again motivated him to try, with great effort, to disengage from the wresting trap of branches.

He could not break free and was cutting himself on jagged cliff rock as he tried. His nostrils flared in search of the scent of these dog-creatures and their distance from him. He could only smell his own sweat and blood, and the sap of stripped tree bark. He moaned, and then thought it best to lie silent and ever so still. With no protection of flight, he had better try to hide, motionless.

As he listened to the coyotes moving closer, his fears mounted. He heard a cacophony of yelping, snapping, growling, all wildly ferocious, but there was also another sound–a kind of bawling with frantic terror. It was off in the distance, but he could sense how terrifyingly brutal was the encounter of these coyotes with another creature. He heard the fighting and a hideous sound of the animal screaming. The yelps and barks grew more and more frantic and imperative, building to a horrible crescendo, and then it stopped. All was quiet for a time until it seemed he could hear the coyotes eating. He could only hope that they would be too full to care about him, and he was too exhausted to do more than return to sleep with this wish.

When he next woke it was barely daylight, for the sun had not yet peeked over the scratch of sky between the canyon cliffs above him. He struggled to look up with half-opened eyes. He wriggled his stiffened legs but they were swollen, weighty, badly entangled in branches. There was no sense in fighting this fact and neither did he have the stamina to do so.

His stomach felt gutted and his tongue was dry fire in his mouth. His scrapes and cuts were now sealed with crusted blood and dirt, his body coated with the crud of his dry sweat. He had no way to move and no energy to care. His mother, his comrades, his herd, even the storm were a distant memory. He did not care to think of them any more. He heard some birds twitter toward him and away as they crisscrossed through the canyon, but their cheery trills fell dull on his ears. He could no longer even lift his head.

He was asleep when he sensed the earth move with a faint rhythmic thudding under his head. He thought he was dreaming. The vibration was almost familiar and then it became sound. Hoofbeats! Hoofbeats of one horse on the dry earth coming his way! His heart beat faster. Could it be his mother come to find him? He was too tired to move, but he put all of his concentration to his ears. Yes, he could hear hoofbeats approaching. He flared his tiny nostrils and pulled in breaths as deeply as he could. Finally, yes, horse! He could smell horse, but there was another smell with it, unfamiliar. It was a strong, potent, alien smell, but there was no doubt horse was in there as well. He tried to whinny. His constricted throat was dry, his tongue stale, he did not sound like himself, but he tried again. He whinnied and snorted, trying to clear his throat. He was excited and worried. As the sounds and smells got nearer he tried lifting his head, straining to see. Dust and blood had caked over his eyelids, making them heavy and hard to open. Squinting, he saw something moving far down the canyon.

It definitely had four legs and moved like a horse, but there was more, something seemed to be on top of the horse. He was absolutely baffled as to what a horse would have on its back. As it came closer, he pitifully whinnied again, and this time the horse gave a low rumbling nicker. Yes, it was definitely a horse, but there were squeaky noises as well, and some other kind of sound was coming from what was on top of that horse.

The colt watched them slowly advance, the horse working his way over stones and boulders, having to sidle and zigzag through the river bed. The creature on top was making clucking noises and holding some line attached to the horse’s mouth, until they stopped and stood directly above him. The colt could not fully lift his head, so all he could see were four strong legs towering over him. Tracing his view up the legs, the colt tried to understand what he was seeing. He rolled his eyes for a better view but could not quite make it out. The top creature had a face, and eyes that peered down over the side of the horse, looking at him directly. The black colt blinked; he could not know whether to be glad or afraid of what was here with him.

This strange creature atop the horse had something on top of its head that blocked the sun from shining in the colt’s eyes and he was appreciative of that. Then the large, standing horse, and the creature on him, backed away. The black colt nickered his fear of being left alone.

The horse, tall and spotted, stood still as this creature climbed down from its back. It was two-legged and began talking with a soothing kind of sound, saying, It’s all right there li’l black boy, yer all right. Hold on now li’l guy, we’ll get ya outta this.

The black colt could not know the words but he sensed they were being said in a kindly, reassuring way, in an effort to not frighten him. The two-legged one walked all around the colt, checking the tangled tree, testing the branches to see if they would move.

Then the boy, for that is what he was, spoke to the big horse standing nearby. Okay, Big Poppa, he said, we’re gonna have ta figure somethin’ out here, you an’ me.

The big horse turned his head toward the boy, as if waiting for further instruction, and did not move as the boy reached toward the saddle on his back.

The colt watched as the boy uncoiled something long and skinny, like a snake, and started bringing it toward him. He went rigid with fear, rolling his eyes back, not knowing what would befall him now.

The boy again spoke soothingly, telling the colt what he was planning to do, encouraging him not to worry. It’s okay, he said, you got yerself perty messed up in this here tree now ain’t ya. It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt ya none. Jus’ gotta put this here rope ‘round yer legs here, an’ drag ya out from under all them branches is all. You’ll be okay. There now, li’l pardner, ya’ll see. We’ll get ya out o’ this.

It seemed the boy was talking to assure himself as much as the colt. Then he turned once more to his horse, and said, Ya’ll have ta help me out with this, Big Poppa. Li’l guys got hisself perty much tangled in here, an’ cain’t hardly move. The boy held a finger to his chin, contemplating the dilemma. Now, Popper, what we’s gonna do is ta wrap this here rope ‘round ‘is legs an’ I’ll have ya pull, real gentle like, while I try ta lift some o’ them branches. Now, ya’ll have ta go real easy there, Pop. Don’t wanna scare ‘im none, leastwise not no more ‘an he already is. The boy spoke constantly as he led Big Poppa closer.

Why, this li’l black colt must o’ been here since that big ol’ storm come through two days ago, the boy stated. Now I’ll tell ya, Popper, tha’s a long time fer this here li’l baby colt. An’ look, he’s all banged up, an’ I know he ain’t had no nursin’ or feedin’ fer hisself. Yessir, Pop, I’m a gonna need yer help. We gonna do this together, you an’ me.

Big Poppa looked on with a patient, waiting face. The black colt, trembling, stared and hoped. He was too beat up, hungry, and tired to do much else. Perhaps this was going to help him get out of here. He surely couldn’t do it on his own.

The boy brought the rope, talking all the while, telling the colt what he was doing. Okay, li’l guy, he crooned, I’m a gonna’ put this rope ‘round yer butt here. That’s it, now don’t you worry, I ain’t gonna hurt ya none. No, you been hurt ‘nough, haven’t ya? The boy laid the rope out and positioned it around the colt.

Boy, I bet yer missin’ yer momma an’ all them other horses you must o’ come through here with. Yeah, I bet ya must o’ been plenty scared with that there storm. Hell, I was scared, an’ I was ta home in my bed, though I did get up ta check on Big Poppa here, so’s ta make sure he was alright. Huh, Big Poppa? The boy moved slowly and gently.

Yeah, this here’s Big Poppa, an’ he’s as good a horse as they come, an’ sure ta help me get ya out o’ this here mess. Huh, Pop, won’t ya’ now? The boy kept up his dialogue with both his horse and the colt.

Okay now, li’l guy, the boy purred, that’s okay, now, don’t ya be takin’ ta flailin’ there. Whoa now, easy. The colt was shaking. We gotta take this real easy so’s we don’t make things any worse ‘an they already is. That’s it, easy now, the boy continued, as he went around the colt’s butt and then to his front legs and around his chest with the rope.

There now, good fella, the boy said, you know we’re here ta help, don’t ya? Yep, tha’s right, we’re gonna help ya outta this here mess, an’ I bet yer sure missin’ yer momma.

To the colt this was all seeming to take forever. He wanted to bolt up and run. He wanted to get away. He could only tremble.

There now li’l guy, there ya go. The boy stood, looking at the ropes laid out around the colt. He sucked in his lips, considering. Now, I’m a gonna get my bedroll an’ scooch it under ya so’s I can drag ya on out. Now be still li’l guy, easy now. The boy stepped away and walked slowly back to Big Poppa.

Okay, Popper, he said, got the rope round ‘im some, but I’m a gonna take this here blanket roll an’ get it under ‘im ta drag ‘im out. Keep the rocks from scrapin’ ‘im, I’m thinkin’. The boy untied the bedroll from behind the cantle of the saddle. There now, Pop, you stand here ‘till I get this settled some.

The boy walked the bedroll to the colt, slowly, carefully. Then, talking to Big Poppa, he said, Be still there, Popper, while I get this blanket under ‘im. Then I’m a gonna tie the rope ‘round yer saddle horn, Pop, an’ you got yer part in helpin’ me ta pull ‘im out, see.

Big Poppa watched with what seemed very knowing eyes. The black colt decided to trust him.

The boy laid out the blanket on the ground, setting it to be pulled under the colt. He talked on the whole time. Yup, okay now, this here blanket’s gonna help me ta slide ya on outta here. Let’s get it up under yer butt here, that’s it, easy. Now I’m a gonna reach here under yer belly. Don’t worry li’l guy. The colt remained motionless. He was frightened, but allowed the boy do what he would.

Bet this all seems real scary to ya don’t it? The boy said. "Yep, I bet ya never