Third-Time Lucky by Jenny Oldfield

Thunder Rock and that I will ask him to protect Lucky and take away his sickness.”
    Shaking, Kirstie obeyed. She led her beloved palomino into the cold shadow at the foot of Thunder Rock, fearing, hoping …
    Quietly Zak began. “I call upon the Great Spirit, the all powerful god, Wakan Tanka. I ask him to send his spirit to this rock to protect and heal this horse.”
    In the long silence, facing the east, Kirstie kept her hand on Lucky’s quivering neck. She saw the sun melt the shadows and raise the mist, shining bright across the valley.
    Facing them, his face dark yet serene, Zak breathed slow and deep. He raised his hands skyward, gazing intently, eyes following a shape which seemed to swoop down from the sky and settle above Lucky’s head. When Kirstie turned to glance over her shoulder, expecting perhaps an eagle or a hawk, she saw nothing.
    “Mighty spirit, I accept your presence in the great dawning of a new day,” Zak whispered. He lowered his hands and bowed his head.
    Kirstie felt a pressure on her chest. She had to gasp for breath, closed her eyes to steady herself before she breathed out slowly. Opening them, she found Zak at Lucky’s side.
    “In this moment, in this dwelling place of the spirits, come to me, Wakan Tanka. Work your Great Mystery through these hands.”
    He reached out and placed his broad palms on Lucky’s trembling back, kept them there until he felt the horse’s muscles relax. Then he moved his hands slowly over the feeble, ailing body, passing them over his ribcage, bringing them up to his head. Through it all, the horse stood perfectly still, ears pricked as if listening to something beyond the silence, as if watching a sign in the deepening blue of the sky.
    Breathe!
Kirstie reminded herself. She drew air into her lungs.
Breathe!
she told Lucky.
Deep and easy
.

    Zak cupped his hands over Lucky’s nostrils and leaned his head against the horse’s head. He held the position in intense, silent concentration.
    There was a breeze from the valley. It lifted Lucky’s white mane and ran a shiver down the length of his golden back.
    “Breathe!” Kirstie whispered.
    Slowly Lucky raised his head and drew a deep, steady breath of cool air.
    Zak stepped back, his work complete.
    “So, no drums, no dancing?” Matt asked abruptly.
    Perched in the fork of an aspen tree, legs swinging, her back against the silver-white trunk, Kirstie shook her head. “No. And I didn’t see a single feather or bead necklace, no fringed deerskin pants, nothing!” As far as traditional dress and music went, the healing ceremony at Thunder Rock could be said to have fallen far short of expectations.
    “So tell me!” Matt demanded to know what had gone on. He’d woken in an empty cabin, with the sun streaming in through the window. By the time he’d dressed and made it to the meadow, Kirstie and Lucky were already back from the rock, and Zak was nowhere to be seen.
    “It was amazing!” Kirstie sighed. She kept her eyes glued on Lucky, who was quietly grazing at the far side of the culvert.
    “That doesn’t tell me anything! What happened exactly?” It was obvious from the frown creasing his forehead that Matt wished he’d been there to witness the healing ceremony. Leaving him behind had made him irritable.
    “I can’t describe it.” How did you say that an invisible spirit had moved in the breeze and breathed new life into a sick horse?
    “Try. Did he use herbs?”
    “Nope.”
    “Magic spells?”
    “Nope.”
    Matt strode around the tree, exasperated and skeptical. “What then?”
    Kirstie jumped down to the ground and made her way toward Lucky. “Just faith, I guess.”
    “Huh? And did it work?” He followed across the grass, striding ahead to confront her.
    But she refused to answer. Sidestepping him, she stood, arms crossed, studying Lucky. He was still weak, no way his normal self. His coat didn’t shine the way it should; he moved awkwardly on those swollen joints. But he was