Pauline Wayne doesn’t linger in the stall for very long. She figures that if she ever wants to get back to the sunny front yard, she’s going to have to get this problem solved, and fast. So she nudges the stall door open with her big, wet nose, and then steps out into the main walk of the barn.
It’s dark enough to tell that it’s probably night. That’s good. It means there will be less chance of a human finding her.
Slowly, Pauline Wayne creeps down the main walk of the barn, looking for something that seems out of place. The barn has an old feeling to it; she knows, through the magic of the room, that she’s presently in the year of 1849, during the very brief presidency of Zachary Taylor.
She doesn’t know much about his pets. They don’t come to the meetings very often.
When nothing jumps out at her as being very wrong, Pauline Wayne stops in the middle of the walkway, stamps her front hoof twice, and loudly asks, “alright, why don’t you lot just tell me who’s in here? I know you can hear me tromping about out here.”
There’s a moment of silence. Then the head of a flea bitten gray horse sticks out over one of the stall doors. He’s old in a way that only horses get, with those dark eyes that just speak of having seen and done too much.
Old Whitey, supplies the room.
Pauline Wayne asks, “are you who I’m here for?”
“Aren’t you blunt,” says Old Whitey. He sounds tired, and in a way that has nothing to do with it being the middle of the night. War time mounts can get like this, Pauline Wayne knows it from experience.
“I’m very blunt,” says Pauline Wayne. “I’m supposed to be fixing something, but no one could tell me what that something is. I’d like to not waste too much time figuring it out. So, if you know what I’m supposed to be doing here, that would be greatly appreciated.”
Old Whitey’s ears flicker. It’s hard to tell whether he appreciates her bluntness or not – but Pauline Wayne has never been the sort of cow to change herself for another animal.
She is who she is, and that’s just how life goes.
After a considerable moment of debate, Old Whitey finally announces, “I think you might be here for the pony, Apollo. He’s sleeping now.”
Pauline Wayne asks, “what’s wrong with Apollo?”
“Don’t know,” admits Old Whitey. “But I know you aren’t here for me.”
Katelynn E Koontz – Author
