Franny, a young girl with wild red hair and dirt smeared upon her face, squeezed her father’s hand as she watched the horses go by. The royal colours of gold and silver sparkled on the rider’s cloaks under the early morning sun. Franny found herself smiling.
‘What a lucky girl,’ she said, as a young princess no older than Franny rode past on her pony.
The pony was the colour of summer clouds, and both princess and pony had sky blue ribbons in their hair, streaming out behind them in the light breeze. She rode gracefully upon a side-saddle, as was considered proper for all maidens and ladies.
Franny and the princess caught eyes. Like me, you might have expected the young princess to be pleased to see a child a similar age as she. But when Franny smiled, exposing a wobbly front tooth, the princess stuck out her tongue, turned away with her nose held high in the air, and muttered something not quite becoming for a princess. She then gave a hefty kick upon her pony’s side, who instead of going faster, simply grunted and swished her tail in response.
‘Her poor pony isn’t very happy,’ said Franny to her father.
And Franny should know, for although she had no pony of her own (being the daughter of a farm labourer with no land and little money), she spent almost every free moment she had looking after workhorses on local farms.
Now those farm horses were nothing like the sleek, elegant royal horses parading past Franny’s eyes. They were robust beasts with stocky shoulders and strong rumps, used for pulling ploughs and carts full of harvest. But still, Franny could not help feeling sorry for the beautiful royal pony, and considered her workload was even harder. But after a little time, the royal parade disappeared into the distance, along with any mischievous thoughts Franny had about the spoilt princess.
2
A RIGHT ROYAL FIND
Later that day, Franny found herself wandering the meadows bordering the castle grounds. The grass was long and soft, and Franny made a trail right up to her shoulders as she walked through. She halted rather abruptly, and the swishing noise of the grass ceased immediately. Ahead of her was a loose pony, who had also created a trail through the grass. The pony also stood still, shooting her head up high when she saw the young girl. She took several paces backwards, swishing her tail and snorting with caution as she did so.
‘It’s okay, little one,’ Franny said, standing on the spot so as not to spook the pony further. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
The pony looked around herself at the wide-open plains, as if considering whether running away would be a better option.
‘You must be from the royal stables,’ Franny cooed gently, noticing the pony’s fine limbs and pretty head. The mare’s coat was as fiery as Franny’s long, curling locks. And she was even prettier than the beautiful cloudy pony the princess had been riding earlier in the day. But realising the pony was rather nervous, instead of going towards the pony, Franny knelt down in the buttercup-filled meadow (almost disappearing within the tall grass), and waited for the pony to come to her.
At first, the pony pretended not to be in the least bit interested, and began to graze. But every now and again, and then again, and again, she raised her head whilst chomping on grass and yellow flowers. Slowly, the pony took small, tentative steps towards the girl. This continued for several hours. You may have expected Franny to get rather bored, but she was just as fascinated with the pony as the pony was with her. Finally, just before the sun began to set, the pony’s muzzle found its way to nuzzle Franny’s face.
‘You are lovely!’ Franny said in between giggles and a face full of pony slobber. ‘But you’ve taken so long to come and say hello that now I have to say goodbye. I should not be out wandering the fields quite so late in the evening!’
Franny stood up slowly, her joints aching from hours sat in stillness, and she stroked the pony’s face, which bore a perfect white blaze from forelock to nose.
‘I’ll see you soon,’ she whispered to the wild red pony, kissing her softly on the muzzle. And with that, Franny turned and scampered home, not noticing the elegant soft hoof beats trotting merrily behind her through the long grass.
3
A RIGHT ROYAL NAME
Franny ran through the fields where her father laboured, and it was very nearly dark by the time she reached the rickety gate to her front garden. Through the small windows of her home, she saw a dancing amber glow from the fireplace and smelt the aromas of smoking pine escaping from the chimney in puffs of grey smoke. The front door opened before she had chance to walk through the gate.
‘Dear girl, what have you there?’ Father asked, noticing the shadow looming behind his daughter.
‘Good gosh!’ Franny cried in surprise when she turned around. The pony, almost black against the night sky, rubbed her head fondly upon the arm of the girl, leaving short horsehairs upon her sleeve. ‘Oh! She was loose by the castle grounds. She must have followed me all the way home!’
‘She’s a smart-looking pony; must belong to the royals. Still, I s’pose it’s too late now to do anything other than find her a paddock for the night. I’m sure the farmer won’t mind us keeping her on his land until morning.’
Father stepped away from the door. When he returned, he wore a light jacket to ward off the evening chill, a flat cap on his head and a pair of wellingtons on his feet. He called out to Mother that he wouldn’t be long.
‘We don’t have a head collar to lead her,’ Father said, removing his belt from his trousers. ‘But we can use my belt.’
‘No need!’ Franny said. ‘She’s followed me this far, perhaps she’ll follow me still.’
And the pony did indeed follow the girl and her father to where they found a small paddock.
‘I wonder what her name is,’ Father said as he closed the gate. The pony did not wander off to eat lush green grass; instead, with her pretty head over the gate, she whickered gently to the girl.
‘Well I think she’s delightful – like a sonnet. Perhaps that’s what we can call her, if only for tonight,’ Franny said, waving goodbye to her new-found friend as she and Father walked in the darkness towards the glowing windows of their home.
4
A RIGHT ROYAL DISCOVERY
The following morning, and indeed in the following weeks and months, Father enquired about the ownership of the fine beast. But nobody claimed her. Much time had passed and Father was worried about the bond his daughter had with the pony. They were quite inseparable, and he knew that the longer it took for him to find the owners, the harder the goodbye would become. However, during a visit to a local inn one night, the mystery began to unravel in the form of two drunken royal stable lads.
‘It’s you who’s got that wild chestnut pony?’ slurred a groomsman when Father shared his story about his girl and her pony.
‘Well you can bloody keep it; the thing’s wild,’ said the younger stable lad, rather worse for ale than the first. His heavily slurred words turned into a whisper. ‘We let it escape – King’s orders. Secret orders, of course. He don’t want nobody thinking he breeds dud horses now, does he?’
‘We can’t possibly be talking about the same pony,’ Father said, thinking of how gentle Sonnet was with Franny.
The first groomsman nodded, leaning closer towards Father. ‘There can’t be no other pony of that quality roaming ’round the land and not being claimed, can there?’
‘I suppose,’ Father thought aloud.
‘King got rid of ’er ’cause nobody could break ’er in, you see,’ he said, looking over each shoulder before he spoke again. ‘She broke lads’ legs, their arms, and I dare say a few hearts too with all ’er bucking and rearing.’
Father shook his head. ‘Oh no, no! It can’t be the same pony. Only yesterday I watched my girl canter around the fields with no bridle or saddle at all. Happy as merriment, they were.’
The two stable lads looked stumped.
‘There can’t be two identical chestnut ponies roaming free ’round Loveheart Heath. But I can’t believ
e your girl could ride that pony so.’
Father shrugged.
‘’As the pony got a royal brand on ’er?’ asked the older groomsman.
Father shook his head.
‘Well, it’s gotta be the same one,’ the second lad interrupted, taking a large swig of ale from his tankard. Some of it spilled and glistened on his beard, but he seemed not to notice or mind. ‘You noticed she ’ad no royal stamp on that rump of ’ers? Nah, she ain’t no royal property. Not no more. Wiped his ’ands clean of her. She’s yours, and you’ll need all the luck you can get.’
Just then, a rowdy brawl erupted at the very next table, causing tankards of ale to spill and chairs to tip over. Father decided it was a good time to leave and already believed he’d had enough luck, thank you very much. It seemed the pony belonged to no one but young Franny.
5
A RIGHT ROYAL PREDICAMENT
So it came to a pass over the summer months that there is nothing quite as beautiful as a girl who loves her pony, and a pony who loves her girl. This was the reason the villagers within the green farming lands of Loveheart Heath doffed their caps and stopped their work, no matter how busy they were, when Franny and her pony, Sonnet, rode by. You would hear them coming before seeing them – Sonnet with her rhythmical clip-and-clop, and Franny with her not quite in tune singing. They were a handsome couple, both with flowing amber manes that twinkled in the sun and glistened in the rain.
There were, of course, telling signs indicating that Franny, despite riding upon her purebred pony, was not from regal or important bloodlines. She not only rode astride (which at the time was considered a rather impolite way for a woman, or indeed a young girl, to conduct themselves), but she also rode bareback. She never carried a crop, never rode with a leather bridle upon Sonnet’s well-shaped head, nor placed a metal bit inside her pony’s mouth. Sonnet danced, trotted, and galloped across the countryside in nothing more than a red halter, Franny and her pony feeling every bit as free as their golden manes trailing behind them in the wind.
Every day since the moment Franny and Sonnet became accidental friends, the girl adorned her pony with love and kisses, and in return, the pony did the same. And because the girl trusted the pony, the pony trusted the girl. Thankfully, the farmer Franny’s father worked for had consented to keeping the little red mare in a small paddock on his farm, so for Franny, and indeed Sonnet, life had become a dream come true.
Many times whilst riding through the village, Franny came across the royal parade. At first it made her nervous, but then it made her giggle. The king would nod his head at the young girl, and the princess would pull a rather sour face as she shuffled passed on her bored-looking pony.
Several groomsmen would smile, sharing a secret: they knew, without knowing how, that the young girl had tamed the wild beast who was so reluctant to be a royal pony.
For Franny, this particular evening seemed like every other. The day turned to dusk and Franny carried out her daily goodbye ritual. She scratched Sonnet’s forehead, which bore a long white stripe. She planted a kiss on her pony’s velvety soft muzzle. Only then did Franny remove the red halter, allowing Sonnet loose to roll and scratch upon the lush green grass. Many other ponies may have galloped away to enjoy their freedom. But Sonnet, loving her girl as much as the girl loved her, waited by the gate watching her girl get smaller and smaller as she walked into the distance. All the while, her girl waved and blew kisses before turning into a speck, and disappearing until the rise of the morning sun.
Franny returned home, skipping into the small but comfortable log cabin. A familiar smell of burning wood came from under the stove, and the fresh bread within it beckoned her. But Mother did not give Franny her usual welcome. Instead of a smile, Mother’s face was very grave indeed.
‘What’s wrong – and where’s Father?’ Franny asked. She looked around the small room, which held not much more than a few wooden chairs and an old, worn-out looking table.
‘I’m afraid he’s on a king’s errand,’ Mother said. Her eyes were red and puffy as if she had been crying for hours.
‘Is it a dangerous errand?’ Franny asked. She had heard stories of men who followed the king into battle on horseback with knives and swords, and never returned.
Mother rushed towards Franny and, in one movement, gripped her shoulders and knelt to the ground before her.
‘Father has gone to the paddock to fetch Sonnet. By the orders of the king himself.’ Her eyes shone with urgency.
‘My Sonnet? I don’t understand,’ Franny whimpered. Tears prickled the back of her eyes, and the colour in her rosy cheeks drained away.
‘The princess has seen you riding through the lands and swears your pony is the prettiest pony she has ever seen. She will not be content until Sonnet is within her royal stables,’ Mother said, and sobbed. She knew very well that the pony meant everything to her girl, and the girl meant everything to her pony.
But before she could calm or sooth her child, Franny burst from her grip. The kitchen door slammed as Franny burst through it, running as fast as her legs could carry her towards the paddock.
6
A RIGHT ROYAL FRIENDSHIP
Franny’s eyes streamed, not just with the speed with which she ran into the wind, but also from the tears falling with the heartbreaking thought of being without her pony. Her chest heaved as though her heart was rattling in her ribcage and on the verge of escaping her chest. But she did not stop running.
‘Father! Father!’ she called, upon reaching the gate.
He held the red halter in his hands, inside which was Sonnet’s wary head.
Father’s eyes glistened as he wiped them with a hanky. Franny had never seen him cry before. Standing beside Father and her pony was a little girl. She was about the same size as Franny, but she had hair the colour of summer corn, sleek and long and neat. She wore a dress with frills and lace the same shade as autumn skies. And although her face was pretty, her features were tight and haughty, making her look decidedly sour and spoilt.
‘You can take that horrid red halter off my pony at once, and give her this,’ said the summer-haired girl, holding out a gleaming leather halter. She was, as you may have guessed, the princess. But she was not the only member of royalty present. In fact, the entire royal parade was assembled around Franny’s pony, including the king himself!
‘Sonnet is not your pony!’ Franny called out, with no curtsy or bow of her head whatsoever towards the royal parade. She marched towards Sonnet, who gave a gentle wicker when her girl came close.
‘Daddy!’ the princess yelled, pointing at Franny with a mean-looking finger. ‘Tell her Esmeralda is mine! And make the commoner curtsy before royalty!’
The king, although big and strong, shrank at his daughter’s command. He forced a tired, sympathetic smile towards Franny, but feeling the wrath of his daughter’s wants and ways, he did nothing but bow his head to the young girl.
‘This pony does not belong to you any longer, child. You will understand that it escaped from our grounds some time ago, and now it’s time we have it back. Please, you may pat it once more and say goodbye,’ said the king in a calm, soothing voice, which did not sooth Franny at all.
‘Sonnet is a she, not an it,’ Franny said under her breath.
The king put a finger to his lips, hushing his daughter who huffed, puffed, and tutted as Franny gave her final farewell.
You may have expected Franny to run towards her pony, but she wanted the goodbye to last as long as possible. She took slow, tentative steps. Franny was a bright girl and knew the king’s word would be final. There was no amount of tears or pleading that would change his, or more importantly, the princess’s mind. Besides, if Sonnet had indeed escaped from their lands, she knew rightfully she had to give her back. Father continued to wipe his eyes with a hanky, which was, by now, completely saturated with tears.
‘Oh, Sonnet!’ Franny whispered.
‘Esmeralda!’ the princess chirped tartly, whi
ch Franny ignored. Franny wrapped her arms around her pony’s red neck. Their auburn manes intertwined in such a way you could not tell where Sonnet’s started or Franny’s finished. Sonnet breathed warm, musky breath upon her girl’s neck, and they stayed in their embrace for a long time, interrupted only by the princess’s tapping foot, forced cough, and clearing of her throat.
‘I think it is time,’ the king whispered. Franny did not move, she could hardly bare to be parted from her pony. So the king whispered again a little louder. When Franny failed to unravel herself from her pony’s neck on his third command, the king ushered his men in armoured suits to separate the two.
‘Let me go! Let me go!’ shrieked Franny. ‘I’m not ready to let Sonnet go! I’m not ready to say goodbye!’ Her legs kicked, and she wriggled and writhed under the hold of the king’s men, who all wore glum faces. ‘Sonnet!’ she screamed, but despite her attempts, she was torn from her pony and thrown into her father’s arms. Father held her tightly as she shook and sobbed.
By now, Sonnet was getting rather agitated because her girl was upset, and nothing upset Sonnet more. She swished her head and her ginger tail. Then Sonnet pawed upon the ground with her black hooves, sending dust spiralling up into the air.
The princess, in her frills and lace, commanded her groom to fit the finest of leather bridles upon her new pony’s head. The metal bit clanked against poor Sonnet’s teeth and pinched her soft pink gums. Then the princess ordered the side-saddle to be put upon her pony’s back. It was so heavy that poor Sonnet’s knees buckled with the weight, and she squealed at the tightness of the girth around her belly.
Magical Adventures & Pony Tales Boxset (Vol 1 - 6) Page 2