Destiny and Stardust. Stacy Gregg
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this particular black cat escaped and they never found it again. I’ve always thought the whole story sounded rather ridiculous. You hear a lot of tall tales about that sort of thing when you live out this way. Still, people do believe the myth. The Grimalkin they call him. The witch’s cat. Although I can’t imagine that even a witch would be too pleased if she came across an enormous great panther! Old Bill Stokes who lives down on the Coast Road farm claims he saw it one night. He said a great black cat the size of a bear came out of the undergrowth and attacked one of his sheep, dragged it off right in front of his eyes. Of course they never found any sign of the sheep – and old Bill Stokes does like a drink so his accounts cannot always be relied upon…”
“Well, whatever it was, Blaze was terrified of it,” Issie said.
“I haven’t heard any reports of lost stock or anything unusual lately,” Hester mused. “I think the best thing we can do is to let Cameron know about it. He’s the local ranger with the Blackthorn Hills Conservation Trust. He’s coming out to see me tomorrow and this is exactly the sort of thing he deals with. If there’s a wild beastie in the woods he’ll soon see to it.”
“Do you think he’ll believe me?” Issie said.
“Why?” her Aunt said briskly. “Do you often go making up stories about being stalked by phantom creatures and coming home covered in mud? Of course he’ll believe you! He’s a good man, Cameron. If there’s something out there he’ll find it.”
They had reached the stables now and Issie undid the girth and slipped off Blaze’s saddle while Aunt Hester hobbled across the stable to fetch the mare some hard feed. Issie took Blaze out to the rear of the stables and hosed her down in the wash bay to get rid of the sweat and dirt, using a sweat scraper to dry the mare off before letting her loose in the stall. Hester gave Blaze the tub full of chaff and pony nuts and they stood there together watching as she ate.
“Now,” Hester said, “you said you had two bits of trouble? What else did you find out there?” Issie told her about the herd of horses she had seen down at Lake Deepwater.
“Now this is a mystery that I can solve,” Hester said brightly. “Those are Blackthorn Ponies you’re talking about. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of them before.”
“Blackthorn Ponies?” Issie said.
“A breed unique to this area. There’s been a herd roaming the high country here for over twenty years,” Hester said. “They’re wild horses, descendants of a few local riding ponies that got loose and then refused to be caught again. The herd has survived somehow over the years; they are very hardy little specimens I must say. There must be at least twenty of them by now?”
“Closer to thirty, I think,” Issie said. “Aunty Hess, there was a stallion with them. He was at least sixteen hands, much taller than the rest of them, and jet black.”
“Really?” Hester looked interested at this. “No, I don’t recall a stallion, but then I haven’t seen the herd in quite some time.”
“It was the stallion that attacked us – me and Blaze,” Issie continued. “It was my fault. He was so beautiful and I was so busy watching him, I didn’t think. Then when I realised we were in danger and we needed to run it was too late. He was going crazy trying to protect his herd. We had to swim the lake to get away.”
“Ah, so that’s where all the mud has come from!” Hester nodded. “Well, you were lucky, my dear. A stallion can be as ferocious as a tiger when he thinks he’s protecting his herd. If it actually was his herd. You say this horse didn’t look like the others?”
“Well, there were two foals – the black one looked just like him. But none of the others… There was something about him, Aunty Hess. He was so handsome, he reminded me of that painting on my bedroom wall.”
Aunt Hester raised an eyebrow at this. “Avignon? He reminded you of my darling Avignon? Well, I suppose anything is possible. Avignon was a great jumper, you know. Fences could never hold him and he frequently made his escape into the hills. I suppose on one of his great adventures he might have found the wild herd and bred with one of the Blackthorn mares.” Hester smiled. “Wouldn’t that be a treat? If my great grey stallion had sired a son – and a few grandsons by the sound of it – and now they’re running about the countryside following in his footsteps. You say the little black foal looked just like him?”
“Uh-huh.” Issie nodded.
“Well, this is very exciting news!” Aunt Hester said. Her smile suddenly faded. “Oh no. I’ve left lunch in the oven! It will be burnt to a crisp by now – if it hasn’t set fire to the kitchen!” She turned towards the stable door and began to hop off briskly with her walking stick.
“Aunty Hess, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t run in a plaster cast. I’ll dash back and turn off the oven,” Issie said.
“If it’s burnt on the outside don’t throw it away. Just cut the black bits off. That’s what I usually do,” Aunt Hester called after her as Issie ran out of the stable doors.
When she arrived at the house Issie found what looked like the remains of a cottage pie burnt to a crisp on the top and promptly put it in the pig’s bin before Aunt Hester could try to salvage it.
Issie stood there for a moment and stared at the charred remains on top of the bucket of pig slops. Another narrow escape in my first day at Blackthorn Farm. She smiled to herself. Avoiding Aunt Hester’s cooking efforts was one thing, but wild stallions and black panthers were another matter entirely. Issie knew they had been lucky to escape with their lives today.
When Issie checked in on her horse at the stables later that afternoon Blaze seemed none the worse for wear after her adventures. She fed Blaze her chaff and pony nuts for dinner and hung up a hay net for the mare to munch through overnight. Then she checked on the other horses in their stalls.
Issie was adjusting Diablo’s stable rug when she heard a noise behind her. “Miaow!” The sound made her jump and she turned around to see Aidan leaning over the stable door, smiling at her.
“Ohmygod, Aidan! You scared me!”
Aidan pushed his long dark hair back out of his eyes. “It wasn’t me – it was the Grimalkin, the witch’s cat of Blackthorn Ridge!” He grinned at her.
Issie threw a sponge out of Diablo’s grooming kit at the stall door and Aidan ducked as it flew past his ear.
“I’m not imagining it, Aidan. I was chased by something today in the woods. I’m not saying it was some imaginary cat. I don’t know what it was, but it followed me and Blaze and it was fast and it was huge.” Issie stood her ground.
“Hey,” Aidan raised both his palms up as if surrendering the conversation to her, “I believe you. There’s a big kitty out there who wants a saucer of milk and a pony.”
“Aidan!”
“No, seriously, Issie, I do believe you. The horses have all been very spooky lately and last week we lost two chickens from the henhouse. I thought it was probably a stoat, but maybe it was whatever was chasing you and Blaze.” Aidan cast his eyes over Diablo. The piebald was shifting restlessly in his stall. “Horses can sense things, you know,” Aidan said quietly. “They know when there’s trouble about.”
“So can pigs,” Issie added.
“What?” Aidan said.
“Well, I hear that Butch doesn’t like you much, so I guess he knows trouble when he sees it too.” Issie grinned.
“Yes,” said Aidan, “yes, I guess he does.”
After she’d helped Aidan feed all the horses and lock the stalls for the night, Issie took the leftover scraps of burnt lunch, potato peelings and last night’s supper and went to visit Butch.
“Don’t worry, Butch, it’s just me. Aidan isn’t here,” she reassured the big, black pig. Then she tipped the scraps into his trough and, while