Running Wild

him.
“Ready?” said that first, light voice. Amused even, which baffled Seamus given that nothing in the world was amusing at this moment. He was terrified.
“Always.” The one-word answer was a threat and serious.
What followed was the sound of men running, and running away from where he stood. Seamus couldn’t believe his luck, if that’s what it was. He strained to hear the men as the noises faded, swallowed by the night, and all that was left were the crickets and the soft breeze through the ruffling leaves.
How long he stood there, the tree holding him up, until the absence of human sound allowed him to believe he was alone, he didn’t know. It might have been minutes or hours later when he edged around the tree and looked out. The half-moon was up, and it shone down on the field, no one in sight.
He couldn’t stay here. They’d almost found him, they could return. However, it wasn’t clear to Seamus where he should go. Not the field or the road—too easily seen there, too vulnerable, with no place to hide. So he started picking his way through the woods. Small as it was, it offered trees to hide among. If he could find a farmhouse, he’d take his chances and throw himself at their mercy. But this was Manitoba prairie, and farmhouses were few and far between.
Seamus reached the far edge of the small woods to face yet another field, no building in sight. He’d become chilled to the bone. Yes, it was summer, but the nights were cool, and he was shivering. Though that might have had something to do with shock. He hunkered down for a moment, wrapping his arms around his legs and wishing he had more than the T-shirt on his back and a pair of jeans.
They’d ripped his bag off him as he’d begun to run. He rubbed his face, barely able to consider the consequences of having no money and no ID. Barely able to believe the events of the past few days. Going from high school to…this.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, unsure of his next move, when the strangest thing happened. Under the thin moonlight, a black horse came into sight. Seamus stared, making himself smaller, though he didn’t know why. It freaked him out that the men had asked about a horse. Did that mean they were here too? But there were no people with the creature. And horses, well, he liked horses, and this one was beautiful.
It blew hard through its nostrils, a kind of snort but not quite, a deep vibration. Seamus had the impression it had been running, though now it walked.
Towards him.
He tried not to lose it. It was a horse. He’d ridden before, if not extensively, so this animal shouldn’t frighten him. The horse continued to blow, and Seamus wasn’t sure if it was greeting him or catching its breath. Horse talk was something of a foreign language to him.
It was all black save splashes of white on its face, and it shone darkly under the moonlight. Slowing before it reached Seamus, it watched him with rounded eyes.
Not wanting to cower in front of this creature, he forced himself to stand. “Hey, horse,” he said awkwardly, and raised a hand, wondering if it would shy away. But it wasn’t skittish, so he placed his palm on the horse’s damp neck. It proceeded to nuzzle his face and hair, and the warmth was reassuring.
“It’s nice”—Seamus was aware his voice shook—“to meet a friendly face.”
The horse lightly butted Seamus’s palm with its nose, almost a confirmation of his words.
“Um, are you lost?” Did horses get lost or could they always find their way back home?
At that, a thought struck Seamus while this strange, large horse breathed and smelled him. The noises it made were friendly, Seamus was pretty sure of that.
The horse was in good shape, healthy, it had a home. If Seamus pulled himself onto its back, it could carry him away from this hellish woods and this hellish night. Someone who took good care of horses might not be a bad person, might help Seamus out.
The most likely scenario was the horse would balk at the idea of being ridden. But Seamus was desperate, so he leaned forward and draped an arm around the animal. Its bony withers pressed against his arm, but the horse didn’t move. It went perfectly still. As if waiting for Seamus to mount him.
Wishful thinking no doubt, but Seamus moved down to where he could pull himself up, leaned on the horse again…and it didn’t move. He breathed in for courage, imagined the horse whickered encouragement, and with all that was in him, jumped.
It was a