Fortune and the Golden Trophy. Stacy Gregg
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Comet. He was grazing happily next to Toby, but there was no sign of Coco. Issie’s eyes swept the paddock. She couldn’t see her anywhere.
Coco was probably hidden out of sight. There were lots of trees and dips and hollows in the River Paddock where a horse might be concealed. The mare was bound to be here somewhere.
Then Issie caught a glimpse of something and suddenly she wasn’t so calm about Coco any more. At the far end of the paddock, beyond the willow trees near the river, there was something huge lying down on the ground. At a distance, it looked to Issie like the shape of a horse—and it wasn’t moving. Issie felt a sudden surge of panic. It had to be Coco!
There are lots of perfectly normal reasons why a horse might be lying down. But alarm bells were ringing in Issie’s brain. The horse lying there looked odd. Something was definitely wrong. Issie’s first thought was colic, and it filled her with dread. Coco was a greedy little pony and with the new spring grass coming through she could easily have eaten too much and become colicky. That would explain why she was lying down. But lying down was the worst thing a pony with colic might do. Stomach pains could make Coco kick at her own tummy with her hooves and she might injure herself horribly. If she did have colic, Issie needed to get her up immediately. She had to get Coco walking and keep her moving until she could fetch the vet.
By the time she reached the gates of the paddock, Issie was in a blind panic. She pulled Blaze up and vaulted off, hunting desperately in her pockets for the padlock key. Eventually, she managed to find it and work the lock. She pushed the gate open and led Blaze through.
Toby and Comet, both excited to see another horse at the paddock, did the normal thing and trotted up straight away to greet Blaze. The horse on the ground, on the other hand, didn’t budge. It was lying there at the end of the paddock, utterly still. Now Issie really feared the worst. Was the mare even alive?
Slamming the gate shut behind her, Issie stuck her foot in the stirrup and bounced back up into the saddle. She urged Blaze straight into a canter and clucked the mare on through the paddock towards the dark shape on the ground.
The horse was still lying there, perfectly motionless. However, as they came closer, Issie began to have doubts. Was it really Coco? It was quite definitely a horse—Issie could see the outline of its fat belly and legs sticking out from beneath a winter paddock rug. But as she approached, she noticed that it didn’t actually look like Coco. It was too big for starters. Also, getting even nearer, Issie could see that the horse wasn’t chocolate brown either. It was a piebald, with black and white patches, a bit like a magpie.
There was no time to feel relieved though. Whoever this horse might be, it was still in big trouble.
As Blaze reached its side, Issie had been hoping for some sign that the animal was still alive. Surely a healthy horse would raise its head to acknowledge them? But this horse didn’t even twitch a muscle as Issie dismounted and began to walk towards it.
Issie was just a few metres away from the piebald when she heard the noise. She had never heard anything like it before. It sounded like a troll grunting. Not that she had ever heard a troll grunt obviously, but it was that sort of sound, deep and guttural—almost otherworldly.
Issie took a few tentative steps forward. She was right up close to the piebald and there was no doubt that the noise was indeed coming from the horse. Now that she was right next to it, Issie could see the winter rug that covered the horse’s stomach rising and falling in time to the noise. Issie stared at the piebald lying on the ground in utter disbelief. This horse wasn’t sick or dead. It was fast asleep—and it was snoring.
Issie was about to take another step forward when the black and white horse suddenly stopped making the troll grunts and raised its head off the ground. Yep, there was no doubt about it. The piebald had been asleep all right!
Issie didn’t know whether to feel angry or relieved as she watched the pony lumber to its feet in a rather ungainly fashion. The gelding shook out his mane and looked at her with a dopey, heavy-lidded expression on his face.
Issie stared as the piebald began to graze just a few metres in front of her. He was about the same size as Blaze, maybe fourteen-two hands. It was hard to be sure though because he wasn’t shaped like Blaze in the slightest. He was a tubby pony. Clearly, the only thing he really liked as much as sleeping was eating. He was a true piebald, covered in big black and white splodges, with chunky white streaks through his black mane. He had a white muzzle and a star on his forehead which radiated out so that his whole face was sprinkled with white hairs in a salt-and-pepper effect.
It was a bit of an ugly face, Issie assessed clinically, slightly too large and out of proportion with his body, and with a Roman nose to boot. As far as Issie could tell with his rug on, the pony seemed to have decent enough conformation, apart from being overweight, but he was certainly no oil painting.
Even now that he was awake the piebald didn’t seem particularly alert. He cast a vacant glance at Blaze, showing a complete lack of interest in the mare. He displayed even less interest in Issie who was still standing there, slack-jawed and staring at him. The piebald gave what looked like a yawn, then turned his rump on them both, lowered his head and ambled off.
Issie was gobsmacked. She had never seen anything like it. Horses hardly ever lay down to sleep. They certainly didn’t snore. And she’d never met a horse who wasn’t in the least bit curious to meet another new horse before.
“Well, I’m just glad you’re OK,” Issie said. She was talking to herself though because the piebald wasn’t listening. He was grazing away and resolutely ignoring her. “You are one kooky little piebald.” Issie shook her head. “Whoever owns you has got their hands full.”
She didn’t realise how right she was.
Issie poked about in the tack shed, hoping to find some clue as to who owned the piebald in the paddock, but he remained a mystery. However, there was a saddle that looked about the right size for him and a bridle too. She also noticed that Coco’s tack was missing. It was possible that Stella had taken it home to clean, but that was unlikely. Stella hardly ever cleaned her tack and was frequently being told off by Tom Avery for having sloppy turn-out on rally days.
Issie hung up Blaze’s bridle and put the mare’s saddle and numnah on top of a sawhorse. Then she headed for the back corner of the shed. Next to a big pile of winter rugs, right where she had left it, was her bike. She wheeled it out with Blaze’s rug over the handlebars, then put the rug on her pony, gave her a carrot and slipped her halter off. Blaze trotted over to join Comet and Toby. There were a few snorts and ears back before the three of them remembered that they were best friends and trotted away happily together.
The piebald, meanwhile, was lying down and snoring once more. Issie shook her head in amazement, wheeled her bike out to the road, padlocked the gates behind her and set off for home.
Issie hoped that her mother would be there when she got back. She was desperate to tell someone about the mysterious arrival of the strange pony in the paddock.
“Mum?” Issie called as she shucked off her riding boots at the front door. “I’m back! Are you home?”
“We’re in here!” Mrs Brown called back. “In the kitchen.”
We’re in here? What did that mean? Who was there?
Issie walked down the hall to the kitchen. Mrs Brown was at the kitchen worktop, pouring hot water from the kettle into the teapot. Standing beside her, putting some chocolate biscuits on a plate, was a boy who looked a couple of years older than Issie. He had black hair and his fringe, which was far too long, fell over his face as he turned around. He pushed the fringe back carelessly with his hand revealing a pair of penetrating blue eyes. He looked almost unbearably handsome and Issie felt her heart leap. The last time she had