S Bolton - Sacrifice

'Stay where you are,' said a voice.

I froze.

Above me I could see clear blue sky; soft, white clouds; and the imminent prospect of a violent death.

Charles's forelegs came down with a thud on the bank and he sobbed. I know, you've never heard of a horse sobbing and doubt it's even possible, but believe me, that's what he did. A tanned, freckled arm covered in fine golden hairs was wrapped around his neck and two enormous hands were gripping his mane, holding him still. It was impossible. No man is strong enough to hold a panicking horse, without reins or even a head collar, but Gifford was doing it.

As I lay half in and half out of the ditch, unable to move a muscle, I watched Gifford stroke Charles's mane. Gifford's head was pressed against Charles's nose and I could hear his voice, whispering softly in words I couldn't understand. Gaelic, possibly, or some obscure Shetland dialect. Charles was trembling, still visibly distressed, but otherwise perfectly still. This was my chance. If I moved quickly I'd be able to cut the two remaining strands of wire. I had to do it now because Gifford would not be able to hold Charles for long. Yet I must have been in shock because I still didn't move.

'The pliers are behind your head, slightly to your left,' said Gifford, without moving from his close embrace of the horse. His left hand was still clutching Charles's mane, his right was stroking his neck; short, quick, firm strokes. There was something slightly hypnotic about the movement. 'Get them now,' he said, and I turned. Lying on my stomach, I reached out for the pliers and then pushed myself forward, closer to Charles's hind leg. Charles shuddered and Gifford resumed his low Gaelic chanting. Shutting my mind to what could, at any moment, come slamming down on top of me, breaking my back and rendering me crippled at the very least, I reached forward with both hands, clamped the pliers around the closest piece of wire and cut it. Without stopping to think I reached for the second wire and squeezed. It broke with a high- pitched zinging sound that seemed to echo around the voe.

'Get out of there,' called Gifford and I rolled, over and over, until I judged I was far enough away to be safe. I looked back to see that Gifford had pulled Charles out of the ditch and was struggling to hold him still. Free at last of the painful brace, Charles just wanted to bolt, but Gifford was having none of it. He hung close around Charles's neck, being tossed this way and that by the superior strength of the horse, muttering in his ear all the while. After a minute or two, Charles admitted defeat. He drooped, seeming to lean against Gifford.

It was, quite simply, incredible. I'd heard, of course, of people with uncanny abilities to calm animals. I'd seen the film The Horse Whisperer, and had even gone so far as to read half the book, but I'd never seen anything like it in real life.

'Tora, will you get over here?' said Gifford, sounding half exasperated, half amused. I struggled to my feet and looked round for the pliers I'd dropped when I rolled out of the ditch. They were nowhere to be seen but the other, smaller pair lay close by. I picked them up and, glancing nervously at Gifford – I wasn't sure how long this mojo of his was going to last – approached Charles. He gave me his leg quite easily, as though it was any normal day at the blacksmith's.

Carefully, slowly, I snipped at the wire around Charles's leg. Five snips and the wire fell away. I picked it up, stepped back and Gifford let go. Charles reared and bucked and then cantered off towards the fence, where Henry had been watching the whole incident with in- creasing impatience. After a few paces Charles slowed to a walk. He was lame but still able to put weight on the damaged limb. I started to hope that it wasn't going to be too bad after all.

'How'd you do that?' I asked, without taking my eyes off Charles. 'He wouldn't let me near him.'

'You were more afraid than he was,' replied Gifford. 'He could sense that and it made him worse. I wasn't scared and I wasn't standing for any nonsense.'

It made sense. Horses are herd animals, following without question a strong leader – equine or human. Horses like to know who is boss.

'And I used a bit of hypnosis. Just to calm him down.'

That made no sense. I turned to look at Gifford.

'Animals are very susceptible to hypnosis,' he said. 'Especially horses and dogs.'

'You're kidding me,' I said, although I wasn't sure. He looked perfectly serious.

'You're right, I'm kidding you. Now, painkillers and a tetanus jab. Possibly antibiotics.'

'I'll call the vet,' I said, watching Charles and Henry nuzzle each other over the fence.

'I'm talking about you,' said Gifford, running his hand up my right arm towards the shoulder. The pain was as sharp as it was surprising; either Charles had kicked me after all, without my noticing, or I'd fallen on a pretty sharp stone. I turned towards Gifford and – oh shit – the pain disappeared beneath a stab of lust so unexpected it made me want to run for cover. I swear he'd grown two inches since I'd last seen him and in jeans and a T-shirt he was definitely not dressed for work. He was gleaming with sweat.

'Let's go in,' he said. 'I'll see what I've got in my bag.'

Gifford's car was parked in our yard and he took his bag from the boot as we walked past. In the kitchen I took off my riding helmet and sat down at the table, acutely conscious of the debris from breakfast, my red, sweaty face and hair that badly needed washing. I probably didn't smell too good either. Gifford turned on the tap and let it run till the water steamed.

'I can take you into the hospital where we can be properly chaperoned or you can have my word that I'm not about to behave inappropriately.'

I'm sure I blushed at that but my face was so red to start with he couldn't have noticed. I unbuttoned my shirt – an old one of Duncan's – and wriggled out of the sleeve. I held the fabric close to me, less out of modesty, if I'm honest, than because my bra was not the pure-white lacy one I'd probably have chosen for the occasion.

Gifford started to bathe my arm and I turned my head to assess the damage. Most of my upper arm was already starting to bruise. There was a nasty scratch, which was bleeding, but I didn't think it looked too deep. I had no recollection of it happening but, now that I was no longer running on adrenaline, it was hurting like hell.

Gifford dressed the wound and gave me a tetanus jab. Finally, he offered me two small, white tablets. They were painkillers, stronger than the sort you can buy over the counter, and I took them grate- fully.

He looked at his watch. 'I have surgery in twenty minutes.' He started to pack away his things.

'What are you doing here?'

He laughed. 'Thank you, Mr Gifford, for saving my life, not to mention that of my horse, and offering immediate and highly efficient first aid.' He closed his bag. 'I was planning to ring the vet for you but I guess I won't bother now.'

'Put my bad manners down to shock. Why are you here?'

'I wanted to talk to you away from the hospital.'

And there was my heartbeat, skipping away on a rollercoaster ride of its own again. I just knew there was bad news coming.

'Oh?'

'There've been complaints.'

'About me?'

He nodded.

'From whom?'

'Does it matter?'

'Does to me.'

'I told them I'm highly impressed with what I've seen so far, that you're doing a perfectly acceptable job and that I have every intention of keeping you on the team. But that you are in a very new environment, things will seem strange for a while and they need to cut you some slack.'

'Thank you,' I said, feeling no better. Having one friend is never enough; not if everyone else hates you.

'Don't mention it.' He closed his bag and lifted it.