Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Page 13

  Sound came next: a great rolling, pounding wave of sound that filled her ears, filled her body. The ground shook and vibrated. The foal’s body quivered against Addie’s side.

  Addie gripped his head collar; buried her face in his neck. The shaking and pounding grew stronger. Addie felt as if her ears might burst. She couldn’t move.

  The foal flung back his head, throwing Addie’s arms from his neck. He whinnied: a long, shrill note that Addie had never heard before – yet knew, somewhere deep inside herself.

  Then she saw them: dark eyes looming from the white air, dark manes streaming, hooves flashing as they thundered towards her. The flow of dark bodies seemed to float; to rise and fall like merry-go-round horses in the mist. Addie stared; could not look away. She felt herself lifting into the air beside them . . .

  The foal called again – louder this time.

  Addie blinked and rubbed at her eyes. ‘Is this your family?’ she shouted. ‘Has your mam come? Has she?’

  Her words were whisked away with the rush and roar of the galloping herd.

  The foal turned towards Addie. His eyes glinted: bright specks of light in the misted air. He rested his head on her shoulder for a moment. His muzzle brushed velvet-soft against her cheek. Addie stroked his back. A new heat rose through his skin. Addie felt the race of his heart beneath. Or perhaps it was her own heart. She couldn’t tell.

  She cupped her hand round his ear. ‘It’s OK,’ she whispered. ‘I know you have to go.’ She felt for the buckles on his halter and slid the straps down over his ears and nose.

  The foal tossed his head, registering his freedom. His front legs lifted and then he was still again. Addie kissed his nose, breathed in the scent of him one last time. She stepped backwards.

  ‘Go on,’ she shouted. ‘Go and see your mam!’

  The foal froze for a moment, then twisted away from Addie. His tail whipped high against her chest. His hooves scrabbled for purchase, stirring the damp earth beneath the heather. A musty scent rose into the air.

  And then he was gone. Stolen from sight by mist and dust and the disappearing dark river of ponies.

  Addie stared after them until the moor fell silent. Her blood thundered in her ears. A deep pain tugged at her chest, pulled at her to run, to follow. To fly with the herd and to rest with them in their forest home. To have their warm bodies encircle her, keeping her from harm.

  Keeping them from harm. Addie and her foal.

  An invisible tether connected the two of them now; threaded its way back through the trees, through the mist, through to the very middle of Addie from the brown brick house. Would it break when she left the moor without him?

  Would she ?

  Her legs were trembling now. They would no longer hold her up. She sank down among the spiky stems and springy heather. She balanced her bag on her knees, rested her chin there. Let the snakes come. She didn’t care any more. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the lonely moor; the snakebite pain of knowing that the foal was gone.

  That she was alone.

  Again.

  The warmth of tears surprised her. She wiped them away. She wouldn’t cry.

  She should be happy. She’d done what she set out to do. The foal was home.

  A soft shadow shifted close by. Addie heard the brush of gorse. Was it him? Had the foal changed his mind and come back to her? She twisted round; tried to see. She struggled to stand. Could not. What was wrong with her legs?

  ‘I’m still here,’ she shouted. ‘Over here. Here!’ She squinted in the direction of the sound; listened for the soft thud of hooves that she knew so well; the answering call in the blank air.

  There was nothing.

  Only silence. Held-breath silence.

  It wasn’t him.

  Of course it wasn’t him.

  Addie wrapped her arms round herself, tried to stop the trembling that now rose up through her legs and into her chest and throat.

  Something was there, though.

  Something was close.

  Something that wasn’t the foal . . .

  A snap of twigs behind her now.

  She should move.

  Hide.

  But how?

  Where?

  She couldn’t even see her own hands now. She couldn’t move.

  The mist seemed to solidify around her, binding her to the silent moor. Holding her there. She was cold. Ice-cold. Frozen. Her teeth rattled together. Would Sam find her here tomorrow? Here, among the heather, stiff and still, like the clay people waiting for her in the silence of the brown brick house.

  Another sound, barely there: a shuddering of air.

  Addie was done for.

  Sam would find no trace of her. Sunni would whisper her name in tales of mysterious moorland beasts and merciless mists.

  Would anyone even miss her?

  The mist swirled around Addie, seeped into her mind, began to steal her away, piece by piece. Away from the white wilderness and the wild beast biding its time behind her. Away from Oaktree Farm with its wide open skies, from Jude and his flowers, from Gabe with his grim jokes, his ridi culous hats; his big-brother eyes.

  Away from the foal who had been her friend.

  There was nothing now. Nothing but the empty bridge by the river, the empty brown brick house, the empty girl that used to be Addie.

  And Mam, who made promises she didn’t keep.

  Addie’s eyes sprang open.

  Mam.

  What would happen to Mam if Addie didn’t make it off the moor?

  She was ill. That’s what Penny and Ruth said. And she was trying her hardest to get well.

  Addie could never forget her.

  She needed to get herself together. She listened.

  All was quiet. Just a slight rustle of wind across the heather. It lifted strands of Addie’s hair now. Perhaps it would blow away the mist.

  How long had she been sitting here? The beast would have sprung by now, if it was going to. If it was there. Surely.

  Anyway, she had to get up. Beast or no beast.

  She had to keep moving.

  Addie rubbed at her arms and legs, trying to bring some life back into them, and hauled herself to her feet.

  Her legs were stiff and slow. They still trembled with every step. She thought of the foal, wobbling on his thin legs when he first came to the farm. Pain stabbed at her chest again. She took a deep breath and edged slowly forward, arms outstretched as if this were a game of blind man’s bluff. Maybe it would help to pretend that it was. Addie was good at pretending.

  It didn’t help.

  The rough ground was more of a challenge without the foal beside her; the blurred air more unnerving now that she was alone. She could find herself rolling down a hill, tangling with a snake, or in the claws of that Big Cat at any moment. Her throat was dust-dry. She should have taken more care of the water, brought more supplies.

  She remembered Ruth’s cookies and felt around in her bag for them. She stood still and ate them all to keep her going, even though it was hard to swallow and she thought she might be sick. She tried to conjure the warmth of the farmhouse kitchen: remembered Ruth – the softness in her eyes. What would she do when she discovered that Addie was not in her bed? Would she call Penny? Would Penny tell Mam?

  Addie stumbled forward, inching her way in the direction she hoped might being her to the brow of a hill. A bird called – shrill and loud – as if to warn of Addie’s arrival in its territory. If Addie remembered correctly, the walk downhill would take her into some woods, bring her to a river and to Tarr Steps, with its tourist café and car parks. There would be no Big Cat and no snakes there, she felt sure. She would be safe until morning, when there should be a bus to take her close to the farm.

  She could only hope that she was heading in the right direction . . .

  The river shivered in the low light; glinted black, silver and green as it gurgled over grey stones. Slender trees leaned across it, their branches and new l
eaves forming a canopy overhead. Others bent low, branches spreading in the water like dark, twisted fingers. There was an eerie yellow glow where the light touched them.

  Addie tightened the drawstring of her hood. It was colder here, despite the shelter of the trees. Remnants of mist hung in mid-air and drifted over the water like small clouds. Addie watched them go; thought of the foal disappearing into the herd. By now he would be back with his mother, snuggled up, safe and warm. Back where he belonged.

  Perhaps he had already forgotten Addie and Jude, and Oaktree Farm.

  Addie shivered, like the river water. She needed to find the bridge and get herself somewhere warm for a while.

  But then, perhaps she shouldn’t hurry too much to get back to the farm after all. If she wasn’t back by early morning, they’d have to tell Mam that she was missing, wouldn’t they? They’d have to.

  When they did, Mam would come running to find her.

  And she’d never let Addie out of her sight again.

  The Tarr Steps bridge was very old. Nothing more than a line of giant grey stones, flattened and worn by the millions of feet that must have walked across them over the centuries. Great slabs had been propped up alongside the footway, as if to stop it from drifting downstream. The river water was high after all the rain and lapped over it in places. Addie didn’t think any of it looked very safe. But she needed to get across.

  She stepped on to the first stone. It was slimy and slippery underfoot. Addie wished there was something to hold on to for balance. She was glad of the new boots that Ruth had bought her, with their chunky ridged soles and high tops.

  She peered into the water and tried to work out how deep it was. Her face stared back, fractured and trembling on the surface of the river.

  When she looked up again, she was no longer alone.

  Flo stood on the other end of the bridge, her amber eyes fixed on Addie, her white-tipped tail held high. Water flowed over her paws.

  ‘Flo! What are you doing here?’

  The dog ran towards Addie, her steps quick and sure on the wet stones. She licked Addie’s hand with her rough tongue, turned and stared back towards the riverbank. She gave four sharp barks, waited; gave another four: louder this time.

  Who was she calling to? Gabe?

  Whoever it was, Addie thought, must be looking for her. Her disappearance from the farm had been noticed.

  It wasn’t Gabe.

  It was Sunni – an explosion of colour among the trees and bushes in her purple coat and Ruth’s scarlet scarf.

  No! Not Sunni.

  They faced one another from either end of the bridge. Neither of them moved. Flo ran backwards and forwards between them, pink tongue lolling from the side of her mouth.

  ‘No foal, then?’ Sunni shouted. ‘I knew you were crazy.’ She clutched at her head. ‘But I can’t believe you’ve actually done this.’

  ‘Mind your own business,’ Addie shouted back. ‘Go away.’

  Sunni glanced back over her shoulder. ‘You’ve got to come back to the farm. Right now,’ she yelled.

  ‘Or what?’ Addie said. ‘Go away, Sunni.’

  ‘You’ve got to. Come on,’ Sunni yelled. She grabbed a twig from the edge of the river and threw it towards Addie.

  Flo jumped up and snatched the twig from the air. She collided with Addie and careered over the leaning stone barrier, into the river. Addie tottered, almost fell in with her. She steadied herself and watched Flo’s black and white head bob above the surface as she swam easily through the dark water.

  Addie wasn’t staying on the bridge.

  She stepped on to the bank next to Sunni, careful to avoid her accusing gaze. Flo landed beside them; shook herself dry in a blur of water droplets and green algae.

  Sunni brushed at the bottom of her coat. She pointed ahead, where the ground dropped downhill through the trees. ‘This way,’ she said. ‘It’s quickest. Your map was wrong.’

  Addie stared at her. She looked different. Her smug smile was missing. Her face seemed thinner, her golden skin tighter over her sharp bones. ‘What ?’ she said.

  ‘Flo found it,’ Sunni said, ‘back there in the heather.’ She reached towards the dog, smoothed her back. ‘Best sniffer dog and best sheepdog ever, aren’t you, Flo?’

  ‘What, you’ve been following me?’

  Sunni shook her head. ‘We need to go now,’ she said.

  Addie was going nowhere. Not until she had some answers. ‘Well. Have you?’

  ‘Jude. All right? Jude told me. He got scared; thought you might need some help. He woke me up.’

  ‘He didn’t really know where I was going,’ Addie said. ‘I didn’t get chance to say.’

  Sunni shrugged. ‘That was the easy bit – you’d have to be heading for Winsford and Withypool. Obviously.’ Her usual smirk crept back across her face. ‘But you took the long way round. I nearly gave up.’ The smirk fell away. Her lips twisted into something like a snarl. ‘Pity your mam didn’t teach you to draw maps instead of flowers.’

  Addie couldn’t look at Sunni for a moment longer. ‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘I don’t need help,’ she said. ‘Not from you and not from anybody else.’ She patted Flo’s head. ‘See you later, girl.’

  She threw her bag over her shoulder and set off in the direction that Sunni had indicated. It was the right way, as far as she could remember, without her stupid map to help her.

  Sunni grabbed her arm from behind, her fingers needle-sharp through Addie’s sleeve.

  Addie spun round to face her. Her shoulder bag swung against Sunni’s chest. ‘Get off, idiot,’ she said, her teeth clenched tight. ‘I’ll be back when I’m ready. Leave me alone.’

  ‘It’s not about you, though,’ Sunni said. She pushed her face close to Addie’s. ‘It’s about Ruth. And Sam. Only you’re much too selfish to think about them.’

  Addie let her bag fall to the ground; jammed her hands on to her hips. ‘You’ve told them, haven’t you? Bet you loved that – getting me into trouble.’ She held her hand over her eyes and peered through the trees. ‘So where are they then? Ruth and Sam? Waiting in the car park to take me to the police station, where I belong?’

  Sunni looked away. She shook her head. ‘I haven’t told, OK?’ She chewed at her lower lip. ‘Well, I left a note for Gabe. Just in case. In his beanie hat. I said we’d borrowed Flo for some early-morning sheepdog practice.’

  Addie stared at her. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Sunni said. ‘You’re too obsessed with your precious foal and your precious mam to think about anyone at the farm!’

  ‘Maybe you would care about your mam a bit more if she even liked you,’ Addie said.

  Sunni blinked, looked away into the distance. Her shoulders sagged, lifted again. When she looked back, her chin was tilted high and the black line around one eye was smudged on to her cheek.

  Addie bit her lip. She shouldn’t have said that. Not even to Sunni.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean –’

  ‘I don’t care what you think,’ Sunni said. Her eyes were narrow now – fierce, like the eyes of the wild badger hiding in the hedge. ‘I only care about what will happen to Ruth and Sam if the Social find out you’ve gone off in the middle of the night – in a mist – when they’re supposed to be looking after you.’

  Something splashed in the water behind them. Addie looked back, grateful for a distraction from the sharp sting of Sunni’s words. She caught a glimpse of a thin brown tail among a cluster of twisted roots and broken branches close to the bank.

  Sunni slumped down on a tree stump. ‘Otter, most likely,’ she said, her voice flat, tired. ‘There’s loads of them round here.’ She sighed. ‘Can we fight later?’ she said. ‘Please, Addie, we have to get back before Sam finishes milking. He’ll call out Search and Rescue and there’ll be even worse trouble . . .’

  Sunni never said please. What was going on? Addie didn’t trust her. She threw down her bag and sat on it.
‘How come you’re so bothered about Ruth and Sam? I mean, they’re nice and everything, but –’

  ‘But what?’ Sunni said.

  Addie picked at a patch of moss at the base of Sunni’s seat. It was damp and springy under her fingers. ‘Well, they’re not your family, are they? They just look after you, like for a job. They do it for money. That’s all.’ Her throat tightened. Why had she said that? It wasn’t true. She knew it wasn’t.

  Sunni jumped to her feet. ‘You are the stupidest person I’ve ever met in my whole life,’ she shouted. ‘Serves you right if your social worker puts you somewhere really horrible next.’

  Flo barked, circled around Sunni’s feet, looked from her to Addie and back again.

  ‘Next?’ Addie said. She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘There won’t be a “next”. Mam’s nearly better. I’m going home.’

  Sunni raised her eyebrows. ‘Think you’re so clever, don’t you? Out here by yourself, taking the foal back to his mum and everything? Well, tell yourself that tomorrow, when you’re locked up in a children’s home with someone’s beady eye on you the whole time so you can’t do a disappearing act.’

  Addie felt hot. Blistering hot. She clenched her fists; dug her nails into her palms. She really hated Sunni.

  Sunni grabbed Flo’s collar. ‘Come on, Flo,’ she said. ‘We’re going.’ Her voice wavered; she was actually crying.

  ‘Don’t know why you’re crying,’ Addie said. She stood up and stepped close to Sunni. She felt her breath, soft on her own cheek. ‘You should be happy. If I do get taken away, you’ll get Ruth and Sam’s attention back on you again. You’ll have your stupid room with your stupid elephants all to yourself again. You’ll be able to keep pretending that you’re staying at the farm because you actually want to, and not because your mam’s got a new baby that she likes better than she likes you!’

  There, she’d said it now. The words hung in the air between them. Addie’s stomach clenched.

  Sunni was staring at her. Her mouth opened and closed again. She turned away. Her shoulders shook under her purple coat.