Bethany S Shepard

This is an excerpt from a novel that I’m working on. In this scene, 16-year-old Ryan has run away from the orphanage, temporarily. He left so he could go ride wild horses. He found one and rode him for a while, which was exciting. Then he realized that he needed to go home. By the end of this part, he is excited to discover that the wild horse is following him home. Ryan rubbed his eyes clean to insure what he saw was not a dream. The colt was in fact still there. He loved the silence, but he never enjoyed being silent. “Beautiful, right?” Ryan said as he watched the scenery move with many insignificant changes. The meadows that lay in front of him were littered with yellow bush poppies, which had to compete with their orange contemporaries. Giant boulders had laid sparsely all around the meadow. Further down a gentle stream had crossed through the fields and white sand banks that made anyone, who would have otherwise missed it, take note of the beauty that the water provided to the landscape.   Ryan could sit in awe of the scene all day. Bits of sunlight struggled to penetrate through the grey clouds above him. The patches of field which enjoyed the grace of the sun’s shine upon them were highlighted in bright yellow and orange color. Otherwise, the color of the flowers disappeared into pewter green.   “I should get back, don’t you think?” Ryan stared at the beauty that was the horse. He realized that this horse had not been given a name. It had no need for one. It was wild. It was free, free from the stereotype that came with any name. But Ryan was sixteen years old. He still didn’t completely understand this philosophy. “Dash!” Ryan’s boyish brain spilled out. The colt seemed to despise the name, by giving out a disgruntled sigh.   A horse with such stature, of such pride, should be entitled with a name that embodies its amazing abilities. At least, that is what Jonathan thought. Ryan was not as eloquent as his older friend. “Speed!” is what Ryan’s limited vocabulary allowed next. Even Ryan was unimpressed with that. His face expressed the dissatisfaction with a stiffened frown.   “I don’t know,” Ryan sighed, getting off Sam and placing his feet on the long grass, “Lightning?” Ryan expressed, more to himself than to the horse. Movement from the colt pulled Ryan’s attention. It seemed excited. Ryan’s face molded into confusion. The horse stood still. “Lightning?” Ryan asked. Again, the horse jolted in excitement. “That’s probably the most common name to have as a horse.” Ryan was right. He colt showed no concern over the cliché.   “Okay, Lightning,” Ryan mocked, “I have to get back.” He attempted to approach Lightning, but the colt reared and charged away from Ryan. Dissatisfied with his attempt, he made his way to Sam who seemed to be displeased with Ryan for not choosing him first. “Really, you too?” Ryan asked. After many attempts to mount Sam, he began to accept having to just walk back to town. But suddenly he remembered a bargaining chip he had. Ryan shoved his hand into his bag and pulled out a carrot. A flash of orange caught stubborn Sam’s attention. Ryan stood there, proud that he knew he had won this battle. “Give me a lift and I’ll give you this.” He said with a smirk on his face.   With the natural beauty clearing Ryan’s head from all worries, he positioned himself on Sam’s surrendered back, clicked his tongue, and headed towards Glenville through the forest.   The forest, like the meadow, was beautiful. The glade had a calm and, straggly enough, an exciting aura about it. They trotted carefully, missing low hanging branches and outgrown roots that could trip them up. Ryan could enjoy seeing the life in the forest at this pace.   Far in the distance, between closely grouped trees, he made out what seemed to be a deer or something. Ryan loved animals. He was just never sure what some of them were. Birdsong was heard in the green ceiling of leaves, high above their heads. Innocent rustling close to where they were walking called Ryan’s attention. Ryan’s eyes followed the trail of disturbed foliage, and then, suddenly, on a decomposing war machine, two tiny russet figures ran after each other. They scampered to the top of the wreckage, twitched their snouts at each other, turned their heads to Ryan, and then scampered down, out of site.   Ryan enjoyed the forest, but a strong feeling had urged him to go through the forest, instead of around, back to Grenville. He was not fully aware why, but he had no complaints. The overwhelming feeling of inner peace had overcome Ryan, and he enjoyed every bit of it.   As serene as can be, Ryan kept looking around the forest finding something entertaining around almost every tree and shrub. Above him were birds swooping through obstacles courses created by branches, and squirrels leaping from one tree to another. Life was all around him. Life was even behind him, “Lightning?” Ryan said in shock at the sight of the colt pleasantly trotting behind him.