DC Suburbs -- Part 30
by Martin H Slusser

Benny clamped his fingers over her muzzle again, but the old Paso mare had had enough. She shook him off and bared her teeth.

Benny grinned. Here was one horse that needed no bridle, no saddle. She was trained by one of the very best, his Uncle Charlie.

Benny stepped away and made coaxing noises at her, smacking his lips like a young colt. He walked towards the gate and the stables, only one short step from the encouragement of Sara's eager teeth.

Rubbing a spot on his left buttock where the teeth had snagged him, Benny scowled at her. Excellent, if a little painful, that she was as happy to split from this hole as he was. He let her out and she trotted into the stable for one last snack of sweet feed before leaving.

Benny was pushed away from the gate. He shoved back and latched the gate as the mares crowded close. Heads and ears went up, they began calling out. Benny slapped his forehead. Of course, they were calling after Sara. She must be matriarch of the herd.

Dammit. Now what?

Still, many tracks to follow would be better than just one set. Without Sara to boss them the mares would probably scatter at their first taste of real freedom. He opened the gates and leaped away as they piled out, nickering and happy.

Sara let out a groan that was audible all the way to Benny.

Airheads!

Benny raced around them and dragged Cindy off her bed of sawdust and straw.

“Is Madame ready for her moonlit ride?” He mocked her with a slight bow.

She struggled to remain calm. He lifted her and tossed her over Sara's broad back, telling Cindy that if she fell, she would probably break something vital. If only he hadn't sounded so dammed cheerful she wouldn't have minded much.

Benny took Sara by the forelock and down the lane for the woods beyond. Damn, but he wished he knew where his Red Sun was. A mile in he tried to shoo away the loyal mares. They backed from him, eyes walling and breath coming in deep grunts.

They broke and ran, and Benny had to struggle to hold Sara. She called out, suddenly realizing she loved that bunch of brainless fools as much as they loved her.

Arm feeling like it was about to be wrenched from its socket, Benny snapped a few command words at her and with much eye rolling, she meekly, for Sara, followed him at a trot through the forest.

Another mile or so, and Benny felt rather than heard the rumble of hoofs on the trail. He shoved Sara backwards into a thicket of hazel shrubs and wild apples. She protested this, partly because the thorns on the wild apple were trying to shove their way up under her tail, but mostly because at twenty, Sara was the wisest horse around. Sara knew from her mother that when a horse backs up there is always a ghouly right there behind her, just waiting with slavering horrid evil jaws for a chance to rip out a snack of tender horse meat. Sara shuddered. It was there all right. She couldn't see it or smell it, but she could feel its hungry red eyes and slavering horrid evil jaws with their unspeakable dragon teeth right behind her, creeping close, closer, the jaws opening, the saliva dripping.

She groaned. Why did this goose-brain male always have to be the one to come when she needed help?

Benny lay his hand over the velvet of her nose and grinned at her sub vocal rumblings. Sara had to be the bitchiest horse he ever met. All Pasos were smart and had plenty of spirit, they had to be. Maybe too smart. At times they acted almost human.

Muzzles to the ground that were as good as any blood hound, the blacks and bays of the herd nosed their way up the trail.

Benny cursed under his breath. He had backtracked, removed broken branches, straightened crushed grasses. Now here were the elephants on parade. It wasn't a trail anymore. It was a super-friggin-highway that led straight to him.

Sara blew at the mares. She had been getting more than a little lonely, what with only a dumb male for company, and only Benny's hand clamped to her muzzle kept her from trumpeting their hiding place to the world and to the men combing the estate for Benny.

One nickered. The flagging mares picked up the pace and crowded around a pile of fresh droppings. Fresh. Sara. They nickered softly, calling for their adopted mother.

One found the scent on a drift of wind and crowded into the thicket.

Benny snarled at her. Head flung high in alarm, the mare crashed out.

That's no way to treat family. Sara was annoyed. Now that she found she actually liked these fools, here was her rescuer treating them like bad ones. If she could have, she would of flicked him with a hoof. Stupid males.

Cindy gagged against the belt. Benny picked his way though the brush to her and pulled up her head by a handful of silken hair.

“Gonna live, bitch-lady?” he ask, his voice smooth, guiless.

Cindy grunted something. She kicked at the twigs and thorns that clawed at her bare feet and legs.

“Keep it up and you up can stay here. Alive, maybe, but not in any shape to ask for help.”

At the bleak finality of his words and the cold steel of his voice, she slumped, letting the tears pour from her eyes in a frustrated, enraged stream.

Tears . . . didn't move him anymore, Benny decided, and moved back to Sara's head.

The old mare was trained to ground tie, but God knows what bad habits she picked up in her years away from Uncle Charlie's watchful eye. He rubbed her face, and she muttered at him, telling Benny to scratch harder and forget about the female.

Her lip curled. The stink of Benny's heat was strong, ugly to a mare in foal. He was trying to get that stupid female ready to mount when they should be moving higher into the hills, then north, to the Sacred Land. From the smell, Benny had been hard at it for days now. There was a faint, bitter tang, like a machine, not the motorcycle, on Benny's skin, and lubricants that had nothing to do with mating. Yet did.

The mares huddled on the trail, making small coaxing noises at Sara. Sara's head bobbed and she champed her long yellowed teeth.

Benny scowled. He slipped up to the mares. He took one by the forelock and pulled her head down. Cinnamon flavored breath eased into flaring nostrils. The man's stench hinted at things her ancestors had feared and fought through the ages. The sweet odor of Sara/mother was there too. She relaxed.

The mares nickered questions into the damp air around him. Benny greeted then with hand-sign and horse talk.

With a deep, fervent prayer the mare was broke to ride, Benny vaulted onto her back.

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