"Sir, with all due respect, couldn't you have waited until we were safely away?"
"Servant, with all due disregard, there is no time. It broke its legs. It had to be put down. It's getting dark. We need to find a village."
Its leg was broken? It needed to be put down? What a monstrous thing to do! All because he was injured and needed help!
"Let's go, you two, don't dawdle."
Captain Bernadotte tried to lead her away, but William would not move. When he pulled harder she allowed him, but her whole body above her knees seemed to go limp, and she would not move.
"What's the hold up?" the Count demanded.
He had reached his stallion and looked back to find that neither of them had even approached the captain's mount.
William turned her tearful eyes away.
"I think she's sad for the horse," Captain Bernadotte said.
"She can be sad on the way. Bring her over."
He tried again but William barely moved her spine and limbs again hung like a scarecrow where she stood.
"What's wrong? Stop dawdling!" the Count snapped.
William flinched, but looked miserable. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
"Sir, if you would just give me a couple of minutes..." Captain Bernadotte snapped.
He felt confident that if he could just speak to her for a few minutes, he could cajole her into coming along of her own volition.
"We don't have a 'couple of minutes'!" the Count snapped, and descended upon them like the night. "The sun is setting! Deep shadows are falling into the ridge. Soon it'll be too dark to see, and we can either blunder around blindly in the dark until our horses break the rest of their legs, or stay here and freeze to death. I'm not staying here another minute because she wishes to mope about a worthless beast!'
'How can you say that?!' William thought miserably, and again gestured toward the fallen grey as tears streamed down her eyes.
"What is it, little Draculina? Do you expect us to stay here all night because your horse is dead? Do you expect a funeral? We don't have time to sit around and mourn every thing that dies!" He grabbed her by the scruff of her collar. "It is an animal! A beast of burden meant to carry humans around on its back, or pull heavy loads with its legs. When it's legs are broken, it is no use to us anymore! It can no longer serve its purpose, and so it must die! A horse without legs is as worthless as a carriage without wheels, and it must be disposed as such! That's the way it is! That's the nature of the world! I cannot change it. Not God, not the Devil, and not you!"
William was devastated. She could not speak or move, only allow tears to roll out of her eyes.
Seeing that he had wounded William, his own eyes had softened, and he looked truly remorseful.
"No..." he said softly, "It's just the way it is..."
He released her collar and walked away. When he reached his stallion, he paused. "Bring her along, Captain Bernadotte. We have to move."
William offered no more resistance. She looked completely absent and miserable, but allowed Captain Bernadotte to take her hand and lead her away. He helped her onto his mare, and then mounted behind her. He wrapped an arm around her torso to keep her steady, clicked with his heels and teeth and rode after the Count.
The girl was very silent and still. All she could do was bury her face in her hands and weep.
Back at the lodge, William sat bundled up in the lobby. She was wrapped in many blankets and sat near the fire to keep warm. After returning, they had gotten her cleaned up and called on a doctor. He found that she had been scratched up by many twigs and branches and sprained an ankle, but otherwise did not seem physically harmed.
"Did she take a fall while walking along a dirt path?" he asked idly, "Into some bushes, perhaps?"
After they revealed what had happened – or at least that she and her horse had tumbled down a hill, no other details given - the doctor immediately recalled that he had noticed this, that, and the other wrong with her. That her leg was broken instead of sprained, her wrist was sprained instead of tender, she had deep gashes that simply must be remedied!That that she was clearly distressed, quite traumatized, and could very quickly go into shock. That they simply must go to great pains to make her feel as comfortable as possible, to call a maid to wait on her to put her mind at ease, and muster every amount of manhood to show the frail little girl that she had such strong men watching over her to reassure her of her safety. That they simply must have a maid sit up with her all night to see how she fairs, be sure that she does not relapse into something more serious, keep in touch with him about future checkups, and so on.
Oh, how delicate they believed women were in this era.
The Count was certainly not impressed. "When she fell down a dirt path she had a sprained ankle, but when she fell off a horse she has a broken leg? Here's a shilling for your prognosis. Now be off with you to swindle some other fool with your quackery."
The doctor was quite put out.
William was indeed in very poor shape, but not for the reason the doctor had suspected. A fall off a hill on a horse? She could handle that. By some miracle of God (or the writer), she was not seriously injured, and so had little reason to feel especially traumatized. She had experienced worse fears while collecting clams in the dark, shark-filled waters outside the Sea Capital.
No, William was miserable because she had watched her most beloved steed die, and felt responsible for his death. If she had not been riding out there in the ravine, he would not have been in harm's way or gotten killed. If he had been back in the stables at home and she had merely rented a traveling horse like Captain Bernadotte had recommended to the Count before they left home, would he still be alive...?
But then the other horse would be dead too, and she felt guilty for that.
No only that, but her beloved Count had grabbed her and yelled at her for expressing sorrow over his death. Was it really such a terrible thing to love her horse and to care that he had died? Was he really "just a worthless beast"? "Just an animal"? and she was too sensitive to realize it? William knew the Old Grey wasn't a person like a human or one of the merfolk, but he had been her companion almost since she came on land. He always seemed happy to see her, even if everyone said it was just because of "the goodies in her pocket."
William wasn't sure about that. Captain Bernadotte also gave him treats, but the Old Grey never seemed as happy to see him. He always nickered and winnied when he saw William, and when she held up her hand he pressed his nose into it, and brought his face near hers so she could scratch his forehead. She wanted to believe the Old Grey had liked her most, though now that seemed foolish. Even if she wasn't his favorite human, he was her favorite horse. She loved to pet him and ride him best of all. She loved to hold his head in her arms and press her cheek against his forehead. Maybe he wasn't a person, but he was hers. She had fed him, groomed him, ridden him, and cared for him, and now she would miss him. It was that simple.
And now the "Old Grey" was dead because of her. He always loved to be let out of his stall; to run, to jump, to play. Now he would never do these things again. If he was indeed an old horse like she previously thought, she could reason that he was reaching the end of his life anyway. But he wasn't. He was a young horse with at least half his life ahead of him. He could have enjoyed many more years of running, jumping, chasing, whinnying, munching carrots, drinking fresh water, grazing the grass, rolling on his back, and many other things horses loved to do. If she had been a better rider, a better human, a better mistress, he would not have been in harm's way; he still be alive.
He was dead, and it was because of her.
William thought these things with misery as she curled up further into her blankets.
The lodge was filled with the chatter of men and women as they came in and out. While the Count dealt with the lodgers at the front desk, sending letters back and forth between here and the castle, seeing to it that they got proper transportation for when they departed home, and
so on, Captain Bernadotte came to sit near her.
William did not acknowledge him. She seemed lost in her own miserable thoughts.
"Ma cher, you need to drink something," he said, as he placed a metal cup in front of her.
She turned her head away.
She had not touched anything since the doctor came by, and did not intend to start now.
"Ma cher, I know you are upset over your horse, but you cannot keep punishing yourself like this."
She slapped the cup off the table, then fell back into her seat with her arms crossed.
After the Count yelled at her for getting emotional over a "worthless animal," she no longer felt disposed to obey anyone. She knew he was just going to lecture her and she didn't feel like being patronized.
Captain Bernadotte sighed and picked the cup off the floor.
"Look, I know how much that horse meant to you…" he began.
She scowled more deeply and crossed her arms more tightly. She didn't want to hear it. Yes, she was being childish. Yes, she was being immature. She was getting emotional over a "worthless beast." She should just move on, and look forward to getting a new horse.
'... But I can't,' she thought sadly as tears pierced her eyes. 'I loved that horse. I want him back. But he isn't here. He's dead, and it's because of me.'
"... but you can't blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault."
William looked at him with surprise.
"You could not have known what was going to happen. Highwaymen have not plagued these roads for many decades.* No one could have predicted that they would be lying in wait for us; nor that one of them would try to ram us off a cliff. Honestly, what happened was a freak accident. It is not a common method of bandits against their targets."
He smiled, "And you were clever to respond to it as well as you did."
His words eased her somewhat, though she was still too engrossed with grief to realize the compliment.
She let his words mull around for a while, until finally she reached for her journal.
"But he would not have been there were it not for me."
"For you?" he snorted, "Ma cher, we were there because the Count wanted to go riding through the Lakeside. You were only going along with what your master wanted, and youwere nearly killed for it. That's right, you were nearly killed too, lest you forget."
William was startled. She had forgotten.
"That bandit was not out to kill your horse, he was out to kill you. Not just you, but us. He wanted to rob us and steal our valuables, or maim and kill us in the attempt. Since we were fleeing on our horses, he would have thrown us off or crippled our hoses to catch us. And we would not have been in that position had your master not wanted us there on the Lakeside; had not refused to give up his valuables to the highwaymen; nor even left us to fend for ourselves after he had refused."
William made a wry face. She was still not in an emotional state to criticize or easily hear criticism of her master. Even though he had hurt and yelled at her, a huge part of her was lovestruck enough that she could not bear to blame him, or hear him spoken of so horribly.
"But you want to know something?" Pip smiled. "It didn't work. You saved me, and managed to survive the fall without serious injury. By all rights, we should have both been crushed under the weight of our horses while rolling down the hill. To be brutally honest, it's a miracle you survived at all, let alone walked away as unhurt as you are. That your horse died is unfortunate, but frankly the least that could have happened with a fall that like. Trust me, William: you got out as well as anyone could get out in your situation."
His words made sense. Suddenly William did not feel so guilty about her Old Grey's death, even though she still felt very pained about it.
"So cheer up," he smiled, and used his fist to rub her chin.
William smiled involuntarily, thought about it for a moment, then her smile ceased.
"But why did he have to be killed?"
"Oh, cher..." Pip said with deep pity. "He broke his leg. When a horse breaks his leg, it's as good as a death sentence. He can never recover properly, so the kindest thing you can do is put a bullet in his brain so he can die swiftly, and painlessly. It is a mercy kill."
William was surprised.
"But humans break their legs all the time. Do you kill them?"
"Oh, cher, of course not," he said gently, and he sat closer to her. "For humans, a broken leg is one thing. For horses, it's another."
"HOW?"
"William," he said gently, "you have to understand. Horses cannot recover from broken legs as humans can."
Pip had to explain that horses were built differently than humans; both physically and emotionally. Humans can mend broken bones quite easily, while horses have so little flesh and blood over their bones, and run the risk of infection. They're also heavy enough that they can't stand on three legs, as the weight would crush the remaining three. No matter how clean you try to keep their conditions either, stalls and outdoors were dirty. Lots of dust, dung, insects, and other problems. No matter how thorough you were, infection was always a high possibility.
Even if they could heal without the risk of infection or other complications, they also cannot lay down or relax while they wait for their bones to heal. Humans like William (she was flattered) could lay on their backs in a nice comfortable bed, with their leg elevated and wrapped up to it healed properly, while they waited for the bone to mend. Horses are fearful animals, he said. They always think they're being attacked or hunted - don't feel bad, it's just the way they are. They don't feel at ease unless they're able to stand, move freely, and run or defend themselves if there is a problem. Most horses even prefer to sleep standing up for this reason.
So, a horse who is forced to lay down, probably with one or more of his legs tied, unable to stand up, unable to move or run freely, is going to panic just as much as you would if you were tied and stuffed in a coffin. It's all the same to a horse. It would just cause him to stress, panick, kick and flail, and do everything in his power to stand. In doing so, he would just end up hurting himself more than if he tried to stand on three legs, which in turn would turn him more.
William asked many many questions over the course of his explanation. She tried to come up with some solution; some method that someone had not thought of; some flaw in the logic he had presented her with that someone never thought of before; all to no avail.
A sling to keep them propped up on their three legs without putting weight on said legs? No, horses are too heavy, and it would no doubt be too painful and uncomfortable over time.
Sleeping draughts to keep them calm while their leg heals? Few are strong enough to work on horses. They would have to pump far too much to make it work, and for several weeks? It would get too expensive too fast. Besides, sleeping draughts have powerful side effects that would not doubt kill the horse from the high dose. The horses would not be able to properly eat and drink while sleeping for so long anyway. And once it came to; what good would that do?
Tie the horse down so it can't kick and thrash around? It would still panick and struggle - in fact, he would just panic all the more and make his condition worse from stress alone.
Make a bed that was so comfortable and relaxing - surrounded by all the fresh grass, hay, oats, carrots, etc that he could want - so he can feel calm and happy to lay there? No such thing, ma cher. Horses can't enjoy just laying there surrounded by comforts as humans do. The same relaxed you get laying down in your feather bed, he gets standing up and ready to move. They might as well shut him in a coffin for all the good making him lay down would do.
William was desperate. There must be something they could do.
"Believe me, William, no one likes to shoot a good horse," he said, "Those things are valuable, you know? They cost money. And often friendship, companionship, income, and livelihood. Countless people all over history have not wanted to put down their best horses - a plow horse for the harvest, a ranch horse for
driving cattle, a travel horse out in the woods or desert, a family horse that is loved by the children. Once a horse has broken a leg, there is nothing you can do, but give him a swift and painless death."
He looked at her with eye full of meaning, "Trust me, cher: you are not the first girl in history who had to put down a horse she loved.
William suspected, by the intensity of his gaze and words, that he once had to put down a horse he loved too.
All in all, Pip had to conclude, there was nothing that could have been done for her Old Grey. If he did not get an infection, eaten alive by insects, speed up his condition by getting stressed by his inability to move, hurt himself further by flailing around, and countless other things that could go wrong, he would lie there painfully with a leg that would never heal properly, crippled and in pain for the rest of his life.
"Besides," he said, "Your Old Grey broke not just one leg, but two. Likely more. If one broken leg is unlikely to heal, two or three is damned near impossible. And far more painful besides. How could he ever stand up? How could he ever use those legs again?"
There was no way her Old Grey could have recovered from that.
"Besides, how could we have carried him from the bottom of the ravine?" he asked.
William was taken aback. She hadn't thought of that.
"It was getting dark soon," he said. "The night would have brought pitch blackness, and freezing cold on top of it. Horses can see in the dark better than humans, and withstand more cold, but even that would have been too much - especially for a horse with two broken legs, forced to lie there in the dark and cold.
"And what of us?" he continued, "If we had stayed with him, we would have been stranded in the dark and cold, freezing near to death. All while your horse lay in pain beside us."
William' heart sank, and she looked down. She now felt very guilty for wanting to stay.
"Now, don't be like that," he said, "You didn't know. All the same, we had to move quickly. There was not time to explain, as the sun was setting fast. This is why we had to move quickly, why the Count had to put your horse out of his misery, and why we had to seek shelter as soon as possible."
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