Free War Horse by Michael Morpurgo

us and spoke kindly to little Emilie.
    After a brief consultation with Emilie’s grandfather the artillery troop bivouacked in our meadow that night, watering the horses in our pond. Topthorn and I were excited by the arrival of new horses and spent all evening with our heads over the stable door neighing to them, but most of them seemed too tired to reply. Emilie came to tell us about the soldiers that evening and we could see she was worried for she would talk only a whisper.
    ‘Grandpapa doesn’t like them here,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t trust the officer, says he’s got eyes like a wasp and you can’t trust a wasp. But they’ll be gone in the morning, then we’ll be on our own again.’
    Early that next morning, as the dark of night left the sky, a visitor came to our stables. It was a pale, thin man in dusty uniform who peered over the door to inspect us. He had eyes that stood out of his face in a permanent stare and he wore a pair of wire-framed spectacles through which he watched us intently, nodding as he did so. He stood a few minutes and then left.
    By full light the artillery troop was drawn up in theyard and ready to move, there was a loud and incessant knocking on the farmhouse door and we saw Emilie and her grandfather come out into the yard still dressed in their night-clothes. ‘Your horses, Monsieur,’ the bespectacled officer announced baldly, ‘I shall be taking your horses with us. I have one team with only four horses and I need two more. They look fine, strong animals and they will learn quickly. We will be taking them with us.’
    ‘But how can I work my farm without horses?’ Emilie’s grandfather said. ‘They are just farm horses, they won’t be able to pull guns.’
    ‘Sir,’ said the officer, ‘there is a war on and I have to have horses for my guns. I have to take them. What you do on your farm is your own business, but I must have the horses. The army needs them.’
    ‘But you can’t,’ Emilie cried. ‘They’re my horses. You can’t take them. Don’t let them, Grandpapa, don’t let them, please don’t let them.’
    The old man shrugged his shoulders sadly. ‘My child,’ he said quietly. ‘What can I do? How could I stop them? Do you suggest I cut them to pieces with my scythe, or lay about them with my axe? No my child, we knew it might happen one day, didn’t we? Wetalked about it often enough, didn’t we? We knew they would go one day. Now I want no tears in front of these people. You’re to be proud and strong like your brother was and I’ll not have you weaken in front of them. Go and say your good-byes to the horses, Emilie, and be brave.’
    Little Emilie led us to the back of the stable and slipped our halters on, carefully arranging our manes so that they were not snagged by the rope. Then she reached up and put her arms about us, leaning her head into each of us in turn and crying softly. ‘Come back,’ she said. ‘Please come back to me. I shall die if you don’t come back.’ She wiped her eyes and pushed back her hair before opening the stable door and leading us out into the yard. She walked us directly towards the officer and handed over the reins. ‘I want them back,’ she said, her voice strong now, almost fierce. ‘I’m just lending them to you. They are my horses. They belong here. Feed them well and look after them and make sure you bring them back.’ And she walked past her grandfather and into the house without even turning round.
    As we left the farm, hauled unwillingly along behind the ammunition cart, I turned and saw Emilie’sgrandfather still standing in the yard. He was smiling and waving at us through his tears. Then the rope jerked my neck violently around and jolted me into a trot, and I recalled the time once before when I had been roped up to a cart and dragged away against my will. But at least this time I had my Topthorn with me.

CHAPTER 12
    PERHAPS IT WAS the contrast with the few idyllic months we had spent with