Foliha

This is chapter 5 of a novel I wrote, which is being made into an animated film - probably the last quarter of this year or next year. It concerns an orphan girl named Boo, her cat named Tertiary and her Pug named Stix. The trio is looking for her kidnapped best friend, an man named Zephyr. Chapter 5: Matchbox It was late afternoon. Tertiary was off hunting mice in the shadows of the tall grass. Boo had found a spot where there was a short, springy turf growing on the sunny side of a large tawny-colored stone in the shape of a half-dome. The rock stood alone, rising in a gentle arc to a height of about twelve feet; then it dropped straight down on the other side. Its flat side looked toward the westering sun. Boo had discovered it, after exploring for a couple of hours. She spread the contents of her knapsack on the short grass and took stock of their supplies. Of water there was no lack. She had found a creek that wound through the rolling hills. It was flanked on either side by lush reed-beds full of whistling black-and-yellow birds. Food was the immediate problem. Tertiary seemed to feel that he could manage for himself, but Stix was no hunter. The meat was gone, and there were only two small dried fish left. There was half of the last apple remaining. Soon they would have to find something else. Boo had her fish hooks and hand-line, and she thought she would dig for worms and try her luck at the creek. Perhaps there would be some kind of tubers in the reed-beds as well. She gave Stix one of the dried fish and sat chewing thoughtfully on the other, when Tertiary reappeared. He was dragging some kind of partridge or pheasant, nearly as large as he was. He dropped it on the grass between Boo and Stix and threw himself down next to it. "Here!" he said. "I thought you might like something besides dried fish." He curled his tail-tip and smiled, seeming very pleased with himself. "Tertiary!" cried Boo "You're wonderful!" She picked him up and squeezed him, kissing the top of his head. "All right, all right," he said, squirming loose and dropping to the ground. "Just doing my share." Stix stood sniffing the dead bird. She looked at Tertiary with new respect. "You must have a real tiger inside of you," she said. Tertiary looked sharply at Stix and opened his mouth, then shut it again. He smiled. "You have no idea," he murmured. "Well, hooray for Tertiary the Tiger!" Boo sang out. "I'm going to look for wood!" She skipped off into the tall grass, and Tertiary lay down and began to groom himself with his rough pink tongue. Stix stood by, feeling a bit useless and sad. She lay down, put her head on her forepaws, and heaved a sigh. Her little doughnut tail slowly uncurled and hung limp. With an expression of sorrow her large, dark eyes watched Tertiary clean himself. Tertiary glanced at her and said, "What's the trouble, old rag?" Stix sighed again. "At least an old rag might be useful," she said. "Oh, come now," said the cat, "You're just feeling sorry for yourself! You are not useless. We couldn't have come this far if not for your tracking. How would we have been able to tell where Zephyr had got to without you? Your talented nose has been the making of this expedition-- even if it does look like you've been chasing parked farm-carts." Tertiary rolled onto his back and cackled with laughter. Stix snorted indignantly, but her limp tail slowly curled back into a little doughnut. # Boo soon returned carrying firewood. It was driftwood from the banks of the creek, washed down and deposited on the sandbanks after winter storms. She threw it down, and using her clasp knife, she began to cut turves from the short grass that grew at the foot of the rock-face. In no time she had set aside the squares of sod and laid a fire in the pit she had made, kindling it with her matches and wads of dry grass. She hummed as she worked, and, taking up the dead fowl, she said to her companions, "I'll be right back, you two. I'm going to clean this bird and bring some more wood." She went off toward the creek. After a moment Tertiary said, "Stix, that child is a wonder. How in the world does she manage to get on so well? I’ve known a number of grown men who would have no idea how to lay a fire or dress a fowl. She acts as if she's done it all her life." Stix looked at Tertiary and said, "She has. Since she was a baby she lived the life of a traveler, moving from place to place with her father. Her mother died in childbed, and her father took her on the road, moving around, camping anywhere and everywhere. He earned their salt and lamp-oil by hunting and fishing, and he taught her as much as he could. From the time she could toddle she wanted to help. And a good help she was, I must say." "Where is her father now?" asked the cat. "We don't know," said Stix. "Three years ago he got into his little boat to go fishing, leaving Boo to gather reeds near the river for a new basket. He never returned. Boo was then only nine years old." For a while the cat and dog said nothing as they watched the great, red ball of the sun sinking toward the hills. The fire crackled merrily. Presently Boo appeared, dropping an armload of wood near the fire. She sat on the grass, tended the fire, and began to pluck the now headless bird. After cutting the bird in pieces with practiced efficiency, she skewered the meat on a peeled green twig. Setting the thick end of the twig in the edge of the fire-pit farthest from the rock-face, she leaned it over and braced the other end against the stone. She then pulled a bundle of leaves from her pocket. It contained the liver, heart and gizzard of the bird. These she threaded on a smaller twig and held them over the fire. They sizzled and hissed in the heat. By the time the sun had gone down, the bits of liver and such were toasted to a savory done-ness, so Boo shared them out between Tertiary and Stix. While the larger pieces of the bird roasted, the stars came out in great numbers. The three friends watched them and made their feast on the bird. As the fire burned low, one by one the weary travelers dropped into slumber. They slept long and dreamlessly, or if they dreamed; they did not remember. They awoke to full daylight, but the shadow of the rock was chilly, and the fire was only cold ashes. Boo stood up. Stix was awake and greeted her, wagging her tail. Tertiary was nowhere to be seen. The two of them ambled off toward the creek. The air was full of birdsong. After bathing her face at the creek, Boo slipped off her smock and waded into the water. Stix amused herself by chasing minnows in the shallows, but she caught only two and got a very muddy face for her trouble. Boo scrubbed her smock as clean as she could without soap, and then she and Stix returned to camp. The smock was spread to dry on the warm surface of the sunny side of the stone. Boo clambered up to the top in her damp shift and stood looking at the hills, as the soft breeze dried her hair. She could see a herd of horses in the distance, loping along like cloud-shadows. They ran along a grassy ridge and then passed down into the valley beyond. Boo stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Then she slipped down the tawny curve of the rock where Stix waited. She walked around to the fire-pit, picked up her pack and sat down nearby, just outside the shadow of the stone. "Where is Tertiary?" she asked Stix. "Gone hunting," replied the little dog. "He says the mice here are fat and tasty." Boo rummaged in the knapsack and found her half-apple. It was a little shriveled and had turned brown on the cut side. "Tertiary's bird was delicious," she said, "but I'd give three of them for a half-dozen apples." She took a bite from the withered fruit. "I saw horses, Stix, wild horses. They were beautiful. I wish we had one. The only thing I can think of that I'd rather have right now than more apples is a horse to ride. Except, of course to find Zeph--" She did not finish her sentence, however, because her knapsack began to wriggle and shake. It fell over on its side and things began to fly out of it. Boo screamed and snatched up Stix, who was barking furiously. She backed away toward the stone and stumbled on the edge of the fire-pit, sitting down hard in the cold ashes. Up she popped again, still clutching the now silent Stix. Her damp shift and legs were blotched with gray. But she did not notice, for something amazing was happening! Out of her pack rolled her little wooden box. It came to rest right side up. But something was wrong with it. The lid bulged and rippled; the little box fairly danced on the grass. Then, to Boo's utter astonishment, the little red horse on the top of the box began to kick and flail his legs, tossing his head and whinnying a tiny, tinny, little neigh. One of his hooves wrenched itself from the cover of the box and stamped down on the grass. No sooner had it touched the turf, than it began to grow! It dug into the earth. Another hoof came free, this time a hind one, which kicked madly in the air. The little red head, complete with flying mane, tore itself free of the box. Boo could see its minute eye rolling wildly through the hairs of its tossing forelock. The little horse neighed again, and its voice grew louder and deeper. All of its four legs were free now, and the gleaming, muscular neck pulled loose. The whole horse was growing at an alarming rate. The box had disappeared beneath the thrashing creature. His tail flowed over the grass, and his shoulders pulled free. He was at least three feet long now and growing rapidly. His coat was changing from red to flaming chestnut, and his cascading mane and rippling tail were becoming a creamy flaxen color. At last, he was completely free of the box. He rolled on his back, kicking his legs in the air, and then he rolled back, gathering his hooves beneath him. Already he was the size of a large pony. He struggled to his feet, neighing shrilly. He reared and pawed the air; then down went his head as he lashed out behind him with his black hooves. He swished his tail and leaped about. His quarters bulged with rippling muscles, and his hooves tore up the grass. His fiery coat gleamed with sweat. He continued to whinny, neigh and snort through his large distended nostrils. A sharp pain stabbed Boo in the lower part of her right leg. She tore her eyes from the rampaging stallion and looked down to see Tertiary digging one of his claws into her leg. He was saying something. Boo realized he was yowling, "Turn on the word-shaper!" Tucking Stix under her left arm, she fumbled for the chain around her neck and pressed the red button on the shaper; whereupon, the neighing of the stallion was replaced with some of the most shocking profanity she had ever heard. The horse was full size now: a magnificent stallion. He stopped leaping about and stood shaking his mane and pawing the ground. His language grew more repeatable as well. "Road Apples!" he shouted. "OH! By the arse of my grey-haired grandsire! Am I glad to be off that crap-encrusted BOX!" He paused, tossing his head up and down. Tertiary approached him and said, "Ok, Horsefeathers, watch your language, there's a lady present." The horse threw up his head and shied, then dashed at Tertiary, who slipped aside like lightning. "Horsefeathers is it? I'll show you, wretched cat! I'll stomp you into a jelly and piss on the— Oh! Hello." The stallion had caught sight of Boo, clutching her bristling little dog against her chest. What could be seen of her face was white as a sheet. The rest of it was streaked with ashes, as was her smock. Tertiary was sitting calmly next to her leg. Shaking his head once more, the horse moved slowly up to Boo. Stix continued to bristle, and growled a hideous menace. Boo clamped her hand firmly over the dog's wrinkled muzzle. The stallion stood in front of her. He lowered his head and breathed softly through his pink nostrils. He said, "Matchbox is the name. Sorry for the blue language, but I'll bet you've never been glued to the top of a box for seven years." Boo was speechless. Tertiary, peering intently at the line of blood on Boo's leg where he had scratched her, said, "You ought to wash that. Cat-scratches can get infected easily.” © Geonni Banner

How many of you are a little bit horse crazy? (or a lot horse crazy) Were you into horses before MLP? I've been horse crazy most of my life - especially Gypsy Cobs and Arabians. Was likeing horses a motivation to check out MLP? Starbuck - my favoritest horse in the real world...