Stacy Gregg - Storm and the Silver Bridle

“You see him, Marius?” Nunez said to the stallion beneath him. The great grey horse shifted about restlessly at the sound of his master’s voice, and Nunez reached down and gave him a firm pat on his arched, glossy neck. “That is your son,” he said proudly.

The progeny of Marius held the key to the future of El Caballo Danza Magnifico. Roberto Nunez knew it. And this foal was not the only one. He had discovered that there was another son of his mighty stallion, born far away from Spain—in New Zealand, of all places!

His head instructor, Francoise D’arth, had received a letter from a girl called Isadora Brown. The letter said that a foal had been born to her mare Blaze and that Marius was the father! Nunez could not believe it when he heard the news. But one look at the photos of the colt that the girl enclosed removed any doubts. He was clearly the progeny of Marius, as strong and handsome as his famous sire. And with the beautiful Anglo-Arab mare Blaze as his dam, the colt would be intelligent too.

The colt’s name was Nightstorm—although in her letter the girl referred to him by his nickname. She called him Storm.

The thunder of hooves shook Roberto Nunez back to reality as the mares and foals rushed past just in front of him, heading in through the wrought-iron gates that led into the vast courtyard of El Caballo stables. As the herd ran past, Nunez searched again for Margarita and her foal and then laughed out loud as he caught a glimpse of the black colt in full flight, giving a high-spirited buck as he raced through the gates.

“You see, Marius?” Nunez murmured to the stallion.

“Your son. He is coming home…”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Issie Brown was having serious second thoughts about taking Storm away from Winterflood Farm.

“I don’t know about this, Tom,” she said, gazing uncertainly at her colt standing in his stall. “Are you sure he’s ready?”

“Absolutely,” Tom Avery said. “The journey will be no big deal. This is an important stage in his training.”

“It’s just that he’s still so little.” Issie’s voice was quivering. “He’s only just been weaned two weeks ago and he’s never been away from the farm before—”

“Issie, he’ll be fine,” Avery said firmly.

“But Tom—”

“Honestly, Isadora!” Avery couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. “With the fuss you’re making you’d swear we were taking Storm halfway around the world instead of ten minutes down the road. For Pete’s sake! We’re only driving to the pony club grounds! It’s hardly a long trip, is it? Trust me, he’s ready!”

Issie sighed. “You’re right, Tom. I’m being silly.”

She had to face the fact that Storm wasn’t her baby any more. The colt was so grown-up he was already as tall as his dam, Blaze. He shared his mother’s delicate Anglo-Arabian features too, although his big-boned, powerful physique and presence owed more to his sire, Marius.

Storm was six months old now. Had it really been that long since the stormy night when the foal was born? Issie remembered it so clearly, fighting the rain to get Blaze inside, sheltering in the stable as the lightning flashes lit up the pitch-black sky. The thunderstorm that had marked the colt’s sudden arrival into the world had given him his name—Nightstorm. Issie had delivered him all by herself, and from the moment she saw the wee foal lying damp and newborn on the straw of the stable floor she had fallen in love with him.

The only living creature that loved Storm as much as Issie did was the foal’s mother, Blaze. They were so alike, Blaze and her son. Even though Storm was a bay and his mother was a chestnut, the colt’s broad white blaze that ran down his velvety nose made him look just like his mum. He was beautiful like her too, with those enormous eyes full of wonder, fringed with eyelashes that were so long they didn’t even look real.

With his fluffy dark mane and doe eyes, Storm was as cute as a baby kitten. If Issie had been left to her own devices, she would have spoilt him rotten with cuddles and treats. But Avery knew better than to let her do that. Her pony-club instructor had made it clear right from the start that horses weren’t pets to be mollycoddled and fussed over.

“That foal is going to grow into a big, strong horse one day, bigger and stronger than you are,” he told her firmly. “So don’t even think about teaching it some tricks that you might think are cute right now, but will turn dangerous later on when that colt gets older. You are training a horse to respect you right from the start.”

Issie was beyond grateful when Avery offered to keep Storm at Winterflood Farm and help her with his training. Together they began to ‘imprint’ the foal, teaching Storm to wear a halter, to lead and to stand politely while they brushed him and picked up his hooves.

Still, there were some things that Issie simply couldn’t bring herself to do. When the colt was five months old and Avery decided that he was ready for weaning, Issie knew she couldn’t bear to watch Storm and Blaze be separated.

“Can you do it, Tom?” she said, with tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it. It’s better if I just stay home.”

Avery understood. “It’s a normal process for all mares and foals to be split up, but they’ll be upset for a day or so,” he said. “I think it would be best to keep Storm here at Winterflood Farm in familiar surroundings.

He’ll feel more secure if he’s in his usual field. I’ll take Blaze down to the River Paddock.”

And so on the day of the weaning Issie sat at home hugging her knees miserably and watching bad movies on TV, while Avery separated the mare and her foal for the first time.

Blaze had been frantic when she was taken away from her son. She had whinnied and whinnied and paced up and down the fenceline, with a heartbreaking expression on her face as she searched in vain for her baby. But eventually she calmed down and began to graze and make friends again with her old paddock mates Toby and Coco.

As for Storm, the little colt had bellowed for his mother solidly all day and into the night. Then, just before Avery went to bed, he heard the trip-trap of the colt’s hooves on the gravel driveway. Storm had decided that no one was keeping him away from his mum any longer and had jumped out of his paddock!

Issie couldn’t believe it when Avery called to tell her. “Well, on the positive side, at least we know now that he has the makings of a good showjumper,” Avery said. Luckily the driveway gate had been shut and Avery had caught the colt before he got too far. “Don’t worry,” he told Issie, “I’ve put him back in the magnolia paddock this time where the fences are a metre higher. I doubt he’ll get out again.”

With his attempted jailbreak foiled, Storm seemed to resign himself to his fate and began to make friends with Avery’s two horses, Starlight and Vinnie, who grazed in the paddock next to his. By the time Issie arrived at Winterflood Farm the next day she found her colt quite content with his new life without his mum, nickering happily over the fence to her.

“It’s all part of growing up,” Avery told her. “He’s becoming a horse.” Issie knew her instructor was right, but still, she worried about her colt.

Now Avery said Storm was ready for the next step—his first outing. For the past two weeks Issie had been practising with the colt in Avery’s horse float. At first she had simply got Avery to park the float around the back of the house in Storm’s paddock. She had dropped the ramp and let the colt sniff his way around it, putting one tentative hoof and then another onboard. Then, she had clipped a lead rope to his halter and led the colt all the way on and off the horse float, talking softly to him whenever he spooked or snorted, reassuring him that it was OK and nothing would hurt him.