I missed Meg for years. I had found out soon after Meg's death that it had been colic that had killed her. I always wished that I could have saved her, but deep down I knew I couldn't have.
I learned to ride, and apparemtly I was a natural, but I never paid much attention to that. I would still go out in the middle of the night, and ride about in the field as I watched people ride one of the first nights that I was here. No saddle, no bridle, nothing.
Living on an Arab stud farm was a huge leap forward in the equestrian world. I remember that one day, we bought a stallion of our own. He was huge, with massive muscles, and black as the night sky. He scared me, but I connected with him, and I understood the pain in those dark eyes.
His name was Riot, and it suited him perfectly. In the field he would gallop around, trying to jump into the mare paddock, often succeeding and often breaking the fences in the process. He was a complete lunatic. Soon, we had to keep him in his stall, where he went mad.
The door of his stable was made of reinforced steel, and yet he broke three. Noone would dare enter the stable, for fear of being killed, as one poor groom nearly had been. He stood for days, knee deep in his own muck. I would see him and I would be able to look through his eyes, and I could feel the pain that he felt. As I said, I had connected with him as I had never with any animal before.
One night, I crept out onto the yard and went to his stable. It was like I was detached from my body, and I had no idea what I was doing. I just went. I took a tourch, and I glimpsed it into his stable. He was crowded against the back wall, in the shadows, so all I could see of him was his dark eyes reflecting the tourch.
He slowly came to the front of the stable. I confidently stood my ground, and as he came towards me I knew I should have been scared but I wasn't. The stallion must have felt the connection between us, because he simply put his muzzle on my shoulder and stood there.