you when I see you. Keep safe.’
‘I will. Bye.’ Right, then. To work.
Midge took the large wooden rake and raked away as much of the muck from the barn floor as was possible. Then she broke open one of the musty straw-bales, using the jack handle to lever off the binder twine, and spread the straw around on the dirty concrete. She scuffed it and kicked it about with her trainers in an effort to dry the floor off as best she could. Grabbing the wooden rake once more, she scraped the wet dirty straw away. Now the floor looked much better.
All the time she was thinking, thinking. Her first idea had been to drag the horse out on to some clean straw. But then she wondered if she could unfold the blue polythene sheeting and put that on top of a bed of straw instead, making a kind of mattress. It might be easier to tend to the animal’s wounds if it was on top of a polythene sheet, rather than half covered in dusty old straw. She was pleased with that idea. So she took armfuls of the grey, frowsty smelling straw and spread it liberally over the concrete floor, the dust making her sneeze. The heavy polythene sheet wasn’t so easy to spread out. It had been folded for so long that it really didn’t want to be unfolded ever again. After a few minutes of hopeless struggling, Midge hauled it outside, where there was more room to manhandle and coax it into becoming a sheet once more, rather than a solid block of plastic. She trampled the crackling material into submission, finally, and then dragged it back into the barn, where she was able to arrange it over the thick carpet of straw. It was heavily creased and lumpy, but it was a big improvement on what had been there before. At last she was ready. She looked at her watch. Ten to five. She could risk another hour, maybe, before going home. Suddenly she was starving. She’d had nothing to eat since breakfast. Maybe she should have a sandwich. It seemed wrong, somehow, to be eating at such a time – but she could think and plan while she ate, and that might help her to do the right thing.
Her picnic bag was still by the barn door, and she was about to delve into it when she caught sight of her blackened hands once more. The tap. The dripping tap at the side of the building – she could wash her hands there. The water didn’t remove much of the oil and grease but it did at least wash the dung off. Her hands were stinging from cuts and splinters, but there was little she could do about that. She grabbed a broken sandwich from the carrier bag and munched at it as she stepped back inside the barn. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness once more and she stood by the horse, astonished all over again by what was happening to her and what she had achieved. For the first time today she began to think seriously about what this animal could be, and
how
it could be. Such things simply did not exist. And yet they existed in books – sort of. Flying horses. Angels. Mermaids. Unicorns. Fairies.
Had
they all been real, once? Was this an ancient survivor from another time? Or was it just a freak thing, escaped from some mad zoo or laboratory? Yes, maybe it was an experiment. Maybe it had been bred in a secret lab somewhere, a weird cloning thing. That was possible. That seemed very possible. She finished her sandwich and thought about how she would get the animal on to the polythene mattress.
Moving the poor creature wasn’t as difficult as she had imagined it might be. It was so light. She began by carefully folding its wings up into what seemed like their natural position – but oh, how strange they were to her touch. They were velvety and warm, yet bony at the same time. She didn’t like it at first – it was just too weird – but her initial repulsion turned to curiosity and then amazement at how delicately constructed they were. They were more bat-like than bird-like, but they also reminded her of paper fans or Chinese lanterns somehow, the way the pattern of quill-like bones
‘I will. Bye.’ Right, then. To work.
Midge took the large wooden rake and raked away as much of the muck from the barn floor as was possible. Then she broke open one of the musty straw-bales, using the jack handle to lever off the binder twine, and spread the straw around on the dirty concrete. She scuffed it and kicked it about with her trainers in an effort to dry the floor off as best she could. Grabbing the wooden rake once more, she scraped the wet dirty straw away. Now the floor looked much better.
All the time she was thinking, thinking. Her first idea had been to drag the horse out on to some clean straw. But then she wondered if she could unfold the blue polythene sheeting and put that on top of a bed of straw instead, making a kind of mattress. It might be easier to tend to the animal’s wounds if it was on top of a polythene sheet, rather than half covered in dusty old straw. She was pleased with that idea. So she took armfuls of the grey, frowsty smelling straw and spread it liberally over the concrete floor, the dust making her sneeze. The heavy polythene sheet wasn’t so easy to spread out. It had been folded for so long that it really didn’t want to be unfolded ever again. After a few minutes of hopeless struggling, Midge hauled it outside, where there was more room to manhandle and coax it into becoming a sheet once more, rather than a solid block of plastic. She trampled the crackling material into submission, finally, and then dragged it back into the barn, where she was able to arrange it over the thick carpet of straw. It was heavily creased and lumpy, but it was a big improvement on what had been there before. At last she was ready. She looked at her watch. Ten to five. She could risk another hour, maybe, before going home. Suddenly she was starving. She’d had nothing to eat since breakfast. Maybe she should have a sandwich. It seemed wrong, somehow, to be eating at such a time – but she could think and plan while she ate, and that might help her to do the right thing.
Her picnic bag was still by the barn door, and she was about to delve into it when she caught sight of her blackened hands once more. The tap. The dripping tap at the side of the building – she could wash her hands there. The water didn’t remove much of the oil and grease but it did at least wash the dung off. Her hands were stinging from cuts and splinters, but there was little she could do about that. She grabbed a broken sandwich from the carrier bag and munched at it as she stepped back inside the barn. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness once more and she stood by the horse, astonished all over again by what was happening to her and what she had achieved. For the first time today she began to think seriously about what this animal could be, and
how
it could be. Such things simply did not exist. And yet they existed in books – sort of. Flying horses. Angels. Mermaids. Unicorns. Fairies.
Had
they all been real, once? Was this an ancient survivor from another time? Or was it just a freak thing, escaped from some mad zoo or laboratory? Yes, maybe it was an experiment. Maybe it had been bred in a secret lab somewhere, a weird cloning thing. That was possible. That seemed very possible. She finished her sandwich and thought about how she would get the animal on to the polythene mattress.
Moving the poor creature wasn’t as difficult as she had imagined it might be. It was so light. She began by carefully folding its wings up into what seemed like their natural position – but oh, how strange they were to her touch. They were velvety and warm, yet bony at the same time. She didn’t like it at first – it was just too weird – but her initial repulsion turned to curiosity and then amazement at how delicately constructed they were. They were more bat-like than bird-like, but they also reminded her of paper fans or Chinese lanterns somehow, the way the pattern of quill-like bones
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