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I try to decide if it would be worth being Benjamin Malvern if it meant that I could live in a place like this

"Who are you looking for?"

I scowl at rooine a world where the horses get baths; how does a horse ever get dirty in a place like this? -- stopped halfway across the yard The gray shoves at his back, but he ignores hie to say it out loud I hold up his jacket, like it’s an invitation My heart taps lightly against room calls to a s They confer I fidget I didn’t expect to be taken seriously

"Stable," the groom says "Probably Main stable"

They don’t ask h they have that curious, helpful look about the I just say thanks and let ate as I found it, because I’m aware it’s the worst criroo after me as I step into the stable It’s hard to think of it as a stable, even with the obvious presence of horses in it, because it’s awesoh ceiling, the carved stone, the carried sounds The only thing that’s ht confessional with the inadequate curtain The stable rereat rock that all of the riders spilled their blood on

With effort, I draw my eyes down I don’t want to stare because the boy is still currying the chestnut in the aisle, and I don’t want to be seen looking like Finn with his round-eyed, ogling face Both boy and chestnut look clean and purposeful, and I feel grubby and mismatched in my pants and smock and hooded sweater I point to where the cross tie meets the wall, which is the universal way to ask, Can I duck under this? and the groom nods He wears the same sharp, curious expression as the others I think that the interest is sier, until I’ot a real head of hair on you to ride that mare of yours in the races"

The way he says it, I think it’s a compliment, but I’m not sure

"Thanks," I say, in case it is "Do you knohere Sean Kendrick is?" Again, I hold up his jacket It feels very important that everyone know that I have a real purpose for seeking him out The boy jerks his chin down the aisle past hi stall doors with stone arches over the doors as if each stall is a shrine and the horses gods within them I walk past them until I see a stall at the end with pale white bars instead of iron ones, and the unmistakable shape of the red stallion’s head behind them

I step quietly up to the stall, and I think, at first, that Sean’s not here It’s a concept that, for soravates me to no end -- and then I see him in the dim shadows near the floor of the stall, crouched around Corr’s legs, wrapping them below the knee He’s very slow about it -- he turns the wrap around Corr’s leg once, then spits on his fingers and reaches up to touch Corr’s body Then he winds it once ain All the while Corr’s neck is arched and he’s looking out the smallof his stall He has a view of bare rock with just a bit of sod clinging to the edges It’s a dreary view, I think, but he seeh I reckon it’s better than the walls

For ahow his shoulders move when they’re not hidden by his jacket, how he tilts his head when he’s involved in his work He either hasn’t noticedthat he hasn’t, and either’s fine bya job done well, or at least a job done with everything you’ve got I try to put er on how it is that Sean Kendrick seems so different to other people, what it is about him that makes him seem so intense and still at the sa about hesitation Most people hesitate between steps or pause or are somehow uneven about the process Whether that process is wrapping a leg or eating a sandwich or just living life But with Sean, there’s never aat all

Corr turns his head to look at me with just his left eye, and the , and I hold his jacket up high enough that he can see it

"I couldn’t get all the blood out"

Sean ducks back down, leavingthere with the jacket I debate whether I’m supposed to leave it in front of the stall or wait for hi else, but before I can decide, Sean has finished the wrap and stood up to face ers press on the side of Corr’s neck

"That’s kind of you," he says

"I know," I reply Dove’s blanket didn’t really need washing but it got washed anyway, since I had Sean’s jacket to do as well I worked at it until ers became wrinkled and ?"

"Wrapping his legs with seaweed"

I’ve never heard of wrapping a horse’s leg with seaweed, but Sean seereat confidence, so clearly it esture with the jacket "Do you want me to leave this somewhere?" I only ask it because it’s polite I don’t want him to say yes I don’t knohat exactly it is I want hiiveshi this to myself is a sharp blow to my pride, as, with the exception of my six-year-old self’s desire tofascinated by anyone but myself

On the other side of the stall door, Sean looks up and down the aisle, as if he’s scouting for a place forthe jacket, but then he frowns atfor at all "I’m nearly done Can you wait?"

I try not to stare at where his hand rests on the red stallion’s neck It’s a warning, the way his fingers lean into his skin, telling Corr to keep his distance, but it’s a comfort as well, the way that I would touch Dove to reh, is that Corr killed a

I say, "I suppose I have one ether"