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The bayMy arlance under my arm to see where Kate is She and her pony are far, far behind There’s no thrill to this race No pleasure in such an easy victory Above all, no joy in a win that the horse has no interest in

And that’s when the wind throws the scent of the sea at us The bayher head up, her nostrils flared I whisper to her and trace letters on her shoulder, but she won’t settle

She wants that cliff edge The ocean is thick in the wind and she cannot think for it I shuffleher veins, but -- nothing She rears, clawing at the air, and when that doesn’t unseat ed whereI do to her will turn her head

Before us, I see cliff grass, andbut sky I pop one rein up, a dangerous way to stop a normal horse as you could pull it onto yourself, but it makes no difference to the bay mare She has the bit solidly in her teeth and the sea in her lungs

Twenty feet to the edge

I have half a heartbeat toto diffuse the blow I see chestnut-colored grass, then blue sky, then chestnut-colored grass again Pushing ht of the mare just in time to watch her bunch her e as I dare I’m not sure if I can stand to see her dash herself on the rocks below, but I can’t not look, either

The bay h the air, as if it’s no more than a casual leap over a hurdle Already she looks less horselike, her body streamlined

I can’t look

I hear a terrific crash She has disappeared into the surf, her tail the last thing I see

I sigh and put my hands in my pockets I can’t tell if she’s survived the dive or not My saddle’s gone, either way I’h it was still dear; I’d had it ence I don’t swear, but I consider the shape of the word in my mouth

Hot breath whuffs out onon the other side of her, her ginger hair all pulled out of its ponytail Dove is out of breath, but not as much as I’d expect

Kate looks over the cliff and frowns for a listening dark back swi out to sea My mouth quirks "It looks like you won, Kate Connolly"

She pats Dove’s shoulder and says, "Call et back to the yard and find it in disarray Half the horses didn’t make it out for their exercise on ti and sucking steadily on the top board of the fence Edana hasn’t been taken out at all, and there’s no sign of Mutt If he’s thinking that he oing about it the wrong way

I keep feeling I’ve forgotten to do so with two horses and returning with one I’ve no horse to un-tack, no saddle to put away

George Holly findsback into the yard, a blood-streaked bucket inthe capaill uisce He’s found a brilliant red flat cap to hold his hair down and a sreetsinto step with me across the cobbles of the yard "You look in fine spirits" "Do I?"

"Well, your face looks like it re; I’ the island all over in to rinse the bucket over the top of the drain "I lost a horse today"

"That sounds careless What happened?"

"She jumped off a cliff"

"A cliff! Is that nor, iry for the sea This ti the hell out of his chosen ht now, the yard seems quiet without him: the blue sky before a storm I think about the Scorpio Festival tomorro the riders’ parade this year will be me and Mutt and insane Kate Connolly

I shut off the water pu about thisout to be norht of the great Scorpio Festival

I’ve only been to the Scorpio Festival once; Mum took us one year while Dad was out on the boat Dad didn’t approve of the festival or the races in general He said that one bred hooligans and that the other gave those hooligans two ht Mum didn’t approve, either But still, that year, when it beca, Mum told us to fetch our hats and coats and told Gabe to kick the Morris into life (it was dodgy, even back then) With illicit fervor, we piled in: Gabe took the coveted passenger seat while Finn and I fought and slapped each other in the backseat Mu the little road to Skar wheel like it was a troublesome horse

And then, Skarmouth! Everywhere there were costuers Muht us bells and ribbons and November cakes, which made my hands sticky for days Everywhere, noise, noise, noise, until Finn, as just a little urchin then, had started to cry from it Dory Maud whirled over fro curse masks and put it on Finn Hidden behind the flat-toothed monster mask, he became as fierce as my mother

Over the years that I knew Mu pots or painting pottery or leaning up against the roof to sle back on with a hahts of Mu wildly in a circle with us, a ht, singing the Noves