I was young when I first saw her, maybe nine or ten.
She stood in the fields behind my house, her white coat shining and her mane flowing in the breeze.
The second time I saw her I was thirteen.
I was looking for river stones in the nearby streams when she appeared, like a ghost, stepping out of the birch trees. She had turned her gaze on me, ebony eyes calm, before slipping back into the sunlit forest and vanishing.
My nine year old brain told me she was a unicorn. My mother told me to be nice to her, and maybe she’d come back.
My thirteen year old brain said she was a wild horse. My mother told me to be wary of her, because wild horses could be dangerous.
I didn’t see her for three more years.
“Kristen!” My mother called from the kitchen. “Time for breakfast!”
“Coming!” I yelled back. I pulled a brush through my long, red hair, yanking out yet another knot. I sighed. No matter how many times I brushed it, there always seemed to be more knots. I finally gave up for the morning, brushing a stray lock from my pale face.
I slipped out my door, gently letting it swing shut behind me, and started down the old, oak stairs.The floorboards creaked under my bare feet as I padded into the kitchen. I cast a glance around the room.
The room was simple, with the same oaken floorboards as the rest of the house. The house had been in the family since before my grandmother was born, so there was a mix of modern appliances and older necessities. A wood cook stove sat on the far wall, and there was a large pantry on the left side. On the right, there was a sink and a few cupboards that held dishes and utensils. An old counter separated the sink from our refrigerator. In the middle of the room was a round, walnut table that my grandfather made.
My mother was sliding some pancakes onto a plate as I entered. “Morning,” I said, grabbing an extra plate and a pancake.
“Morning,” my mother answered, placing the frying pan back on the stove. She brushed her hands on her apron and took a few pancakes for herself. She joined me at the table and started eating. “So,” she began. “What are you doing today?”
“I was going to go out into the woods again.” I replied, swallowing.
My mother sighed. “Oh, okay..”
I cringed inwardly. Oh, great. “I’ve told you before, mom. There’s nothing bad in those woods. I’ll bring Aywell with me.”
My mother frowned. “A dog is hardly protection against a bear.” She protested. “And that collie’s getting old. He can’t move nearly as fast as he used to.”
“He’s only seven,” I pointed out. “He can get around just fine.”
After a few moments of tense silence, my mother sighed. “Fine. Just be back before dark. Long before dark.” She added quickly.
I nodded, feeling a rush of relief. Calm down, I told myself. You go through this every morning, and she always gives in. “Thanks.”
We finished eating in silence, as usual. I cleared the table and washed the dishes. It had become habit, now, after our daily squabbles, for me to make up for it this way. I sighed as I dried my hands on a dish towel.
“Bye, mom,” I called as I slipped out the back door. There was no response, but I knew she’d heard. I dug my bare feet into the soil, breathing in the warm summer air. I stared across the fields before me.
Our house had been built by my great grandfather in the middle of a huge field. The house had originally held six people, but now it was only home to my mother and I.
The grasses had grown long, but we felt no need to cut them. We had a worn path to the small town we lived near, so there was no point. Aywell seemed to enjoy running through the overgrown fields, too. Surrounding the fields were birch forests that extended for miles. The woods were full of streams, caves, and ponds that I’d explored since I was a child.
I heard a rustling behind me as Aywell trotted out of the grasses. There were a few blood spots on his muzzle. He must have killed one of the many rabbits that lived here. He mostly hunted for himself.
We found Aywell on the side of the road when he was almost a year old. We think he’s a mix of mostly border collie and shepherd dog, but there are plenty of other breeds in there. His coat is patterned grey like an australian shepherd. His eyes are blue like them, too. Just like mine.
When we first brought him home, my mother wouldn’t let me bring him into the house, saying if he could survive on the side of the road he could live outside. I had been ten at the time and protested, but it worked out well in the end. We’ve never had to buy food for him because he’s such a good hunter. There are plenty of rabbits in the fields, but he’s smart enough not to over hunt them. He’ll range into the forests sometimes to find squirrels or fish.
“Come on, boy.” I said, starting across the fields. Aywell vanished into the long grasses beside me. I knew he’d stay close.
I picked up my pace to a light jog, and, as we grew closer to the forest, broke into a run. I could hear Aywell’s pawsteps beside me as we ran into the trees.
Tall, white trees stood on all sides. The grass was shorter here, and there were pockets of ferns scattered about. I felt a grin spread across my face as I slowed to a walk, padding through the golden rays of sunlight. Aywell had ranged far to my right, and I could see him slipping through the ferns and trees a few yards away.
We walked for a while, just enjoying the serenity of the morning. A few larks flitted through the branches above. A blackbird alighted on a low branch near me, letting out a call. Another, distant blackbird answered.
As we continued on, we reached a small stream. Moss grew along the bank, and clusters of wildflowers grew nearby. Aywell paused to lap at the water, and I followed suit.
It was then I saw her. She stood only yards away, drinking at the stream. I stopped at stared. Aywell hadn’t noticed her before. How could he not catch her scent?
She lifted her head, her mane flowing down her neck. Her pure white coat shone in the sun, and her feathered hooves stood still. I watched, silent, as she shook her head, spraying droplets of water onto the moss. Her sable eyes watched me calmly.
Aywell watched her as well. He didn’t seem to be afraid of her. He only seemed calmed by her presence. As I watched, he lay down in the moss, placing his head on his paws. He blinked docilely at me.
A few moments later, the mare began to walk away.
I stared after her for a few moments. Go after her. Go! I shook myself free from my stupor and took a step forward.
Aywell sat up suddenly. He let out a whine, moving in front of me. I glanced at him. Aywell?
When I looked up again, the mare had turned back to me. She was watching me with those dark eyes, as if waiting for me to make a decision. I watched her for the longest time, taking in her beauty.
With a quiet clap of my hand against my jeans, I turned and started back home, Aywell beside me.
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