describe to someone who thinks it stinks. Heck, I can’t describe it to anyone, considering I don’t even have the memories as to why I love this stuff in the first place. All I know is I do. I love it. A peaceful feeling washes over me that I don’t remember feeling before. Maybe I felt this way back in my real life, but since I have been with Tobias and on missions, I have never felt this way. I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky and take another deep breath. I let the sounds of the farm play in my ears—the whinnies, the bleating of sheep and goats in the distance, the sound of hooves crunching gravel.
“Leesie, you okay?” Eri asks.
I open my eyes and turn to her, “I’m fine. Just soaking it all in. I could live out here. Right here, in this barn. Forever.”
“Really? You love it that much? You must miss it at your aunt’s house, then.”
“Right. My aunt’s house. I do.” I’m not even effectively lying right now. I am too caught up in this moment to think about the lies of my constructed past handed to me by Tobias. I am caught up in the fact that something about this atmosphere is directly connected to my real life and to who I really am. As at peace as I am here, I am furious at the fact that I don’t even get to know
why
I am at peace.
Daisy leads us into the barn. We pass a chestnut mare and two Arabian geldings before she stops in front of a stall.
“This is Jackson,” she says like a proud mom. She steps to the side to allow us a full view, and he is magnificent. He’s a palomino quarter horse. His dark-blond body is only slightly more golden than Daisy’s hair, and his mane and tail, white blond, are like Daisy’s highlights. They make a nice pair. I watch her let him nuzzle her. He bows his head and leans into her. She cups the space between his eyes and his ears and holds him like he’s an overblown football. They make noises to each other until Daisy gives in and pushes him up. He has found the stash of baby carrots in her jacket pocket and won’t stop nudging her. She pulls out a carrot and feeds it to him as she plays with his bottom lip.
“I’m just going to look around, Daisy. I want to see what else is in here.”
“Okay. I’ll get him saddled. Eri, do you want to watch?” I hear Eri’s hesitant “yes” as I make my way down the stalls. I pass a couple of ponies. One is a beautiful dapple gray. Super old. His name is Norman Fellerman. Funny. A first and last name for a horse. A head down at the end catches my eye, and I turn from Norman. Two pricked ears are turned toward me, and a neigh catches me off guard.
She’s a lovely Morgan mare. Dark brown, glistening. Her mane and tail are the same color as her body. She’s sleek and beautiful. She looks expensive. I check out her nameplate. Mountain Swiss Starflower’s Cleo. That’s a heck of a name.
“Hello, Cleo. Do you go by Cleo?”
She shakes her tail, knocking off a few flies. She jerks her head up and stamps a foot twice. She wants me closer. She wants more attention, more talking to. I take another step towards her. Her head is inches from mine. She lowers it to my pockets, investigating. I reach up instinctively and put my hand out flat under her nose. She feels around for treats, and as she does, I blow a short breath over her.
Let her have your scent. Let her know you
, I hear in my ears. I know I have never been here before, but something is all too familiar. Someone gave me advice, taught me how to behave around horses. Taught me to love it here. To love them. Who? My parents? Did I grow up on a farm?
I back away from Cleo to look at her. I need a second to process this. I start at her eyes and move to her ears, which are changing direction from facing forward to pointing out to the side. Not back—that’s good. She’s interested in me, wants me here. And how do I know that you can read a horse by its ears? I guess ears back is common knowledge. I mean, dogs do it, too. I move my eyes down
“Leesie, you okay?” Eri asks.
I open my eyes and turn to her, “I’m fine. Just soaking it all in. I could live out here. Right here, in this barn. Forever.”
“Really? You love it that much? You must miss it at your aunt’s house, then.”
“Right. My aunt’s house. I do.” I’m not even effectively lying right now. I am too caught up in this moment to think about the lies of my constructed past handed to me by Tobias. I am caught up in the fact that something about this atmosphere is directly connected to my real life and to who I really am. As at peace as I am here, I am furious at the fact that I don’t even get to know
why
I am at peace.
Daisy leads us into the barn. We pass a chestnut mare and two Arabian geldings before she stops in front of a stall.
“This is Jackson,” she says like a proud mom. She steps to the side to allow us a full view, and he is magnificent. He’s a palomino quarter horse. His dark-blond body is only slightly more golden than Daisy’s hair, and his mane and tail, white blond, are like Daisy’s highlights. They make a nice pair. I watch her let him nuzzle her. He bows his head and leans into her. She cups the space between his eyes and his ears and holds him like he’s an overblown football. They make noises to each other until Daisy gives in and pushes him up. He has found the stash of baby carrots in her jacket pocket and won’t stop nudging her. She pulls out a carrot and feeds it to him as she plays with his bottom lip.
“I’m just going to look around, Daisy. I want to see what else is in here.”
“Okay. I’ll get him saddled. Eri, do you want to watch?” I hear Eri’s hesitant “yes” as I make my way down the stalls. I pass a couple of ponies. One is a beautiful dapple gray. Super old. His name is Norman Fellerman. Funny. A first and last name for a horse. A head down at the end catches my eye, and I turn from Norman. Two pricked ears are turned toward me, and a neigh catches me off guard.
She’s a lovely Morgan mare. Dark brown, glistening. Her mane and tail are the same color as her body. She’s sleek and beautiful. She looks expensive. I check out her nameplate. Mountain Swiss Starflower’s Cleo. That’s a heck of a name.
“Hello, Cleo. Do you go by Cleo?”
She shakes her tail, knocking off a few flies. She jerks her head up and stamps a foot twice. She wants me closer. She wants more attention, more talking to. I take another step towards her. Her head is inches from mine. She lowers it to my pockets, investigating. I reach up instinctively and put my hand out flat under her nose. She feels around for treats, and as she does, I blow a short breath over her.
Let her have your scent. Let her know you
, I hear in my ears. I know I have never been here before, but something is all too familiar. Someone gave me advice, taught me how to behave around horses. Taught me to love it here. To love them. Who? My parents? Did I grow up on a farm?
I back away from Cleo to look at her. I need a second to process this. I start at her eyes and move to her ears, which are changing direction from facing forward to pointing out to the side. Not back—that’s good. She’s interested in me, wants me here. And how do I know that you can read a horse by its ears? I guess ears back is common knowledge. I mean, dogs do it, too. I move my eyes down
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