Jan 20, 2023 8:20 am
Trusova nods her approval to the stable master. She forces herself to breathe at a measured pace, bracing herself for seeing her dear friend in bad shape. She waits for the stable master to leave, then enters the quarantined stall where Whiskeyjack lays. She finds him lying down, but as she enters he tries unsuccessfully to get up. It reminds her of the day he was born, struggling to support his weight on skinny, wobbly legs.
"Easy, boy, easy..." she reassures him, speaking sweetly. Laying down her spear, she kneels in the hay at his side, stroking his mane, hugging him. Suddenly, she can no longer contain her emotions. The grief of her dying friend, her hatred of the men hunting her, the fear of constantly watching her back - it all flooded out of her in the safety of Whiskeyjack's embrace.
But she doesn't let herself wallow in it; she works it off instead. She examines his hooves herself, gives him a good scrub down and grooming. She cleans out his stall, examining his droppings for signs of changing health. She makes sure his bedding is deep enough to avoid capped hocks. She feeds him meadow hay, and waters him. But most of all, she talks to him and keeps him company, and enjoys his company in return.
When the time comes to go, she is ready. "I have to go now, Whiskeyjack," she says in a comforting tone. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay boy?" She picks up her spear, and quietly closes the gate. Then she finds the stable master, and makes sure everything is taken care of.
"Easy, boy, easy..." she reassures him, speaking sweetly. Laying down her spear, she kneels in the hay at his side, stroking his mane, hugging him. Suddenly, she can no longer contain her emotions. The grief of her dying friend, her hatred of the men hunting her, the fear of constantly watching her back - it all flooded out of her in the safety of Whiskeyjack's embrace.
But she doesn't let herself wallow in it; she works it off instead. She examines his hooves herself, gives him a good scrub down and grooming. She cleans out his stall, examining his droppings for signs of changing health. She makes sure his bedding is deep enough to avoid capped hocks. She feeds him meadow hay, and waters him. But most of all, she talks to him and keeps him company, and enjoys his company in return.
When the time comes to go, she is ready. "I have to go now, Whiskeyjack," she says in a comforting tone. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay boy?" She picks up her spear, and quietly closes the gate. Then she finds the stable master, and makes sure everything is taken care of.