Free A Hundred Horses by Sarah Lean

black. No, black and white, like the Gypsy cobs.”
    “Of course,” I said, guessing she was probably changing the story and making up how she wanted it to be.
    “Anyway, the girl was only happy when she was with the horses, and so, whenever she could, she climbed out of the window and went to see them. She learned how to ride them, and she felt free when she galloped across the fields and hills, as if she were flying away from everything.
    “One day the big old angel saw her, but she didn’t know he was a big old angel yet. She tried to run away, but he caught her. She thought he would tell the people at the castle and they would be angry with her, but he didn’t. He told her that he didn’t know anyone who could talk to horses like she did. So he let her come to see the horses whenever she wanted, and he didn’t say much.”
    As she talked, my tired eyes saw the moonlight reflect on something pale in Angel’s pocket.
    “One day she climbed out of the window and found her special horse standing under the tree, with all the other horses gathered around. The big old angel was lying in the middle of them under the tree. She only found out he was an angel then because he said he had to leave soon to go and get his wings. So she sat with him, and the big old angel asked her why she came to see the horses all the time. She told him about the castle and the battle. She told him the horses didn’t make her feel like she was bad or lonely or afraid. When she was with them, the war and the castle just seemed like an imaginary story. They made her believe that feeling free and brave was true.
    “The big old angel said he was sad because he wished he had done something about that and now it was too late.”
    Angel was quiet for a moment. I could feel sleep coming, her story both vivid and soft like a dream.
    “Before he left, the big old angel said he wished for one more horse just for her. He told her that one day the hundredth horse would come, and it was coming just for the girl to make her safe.”
    We were back in the woods. Branches like fingers were black against the moon. Jagged shadows fell upon us.
    “What happened?” I said.
    “He left to get his wings, and she never saw the big old angel again.”
    The pale thing in Angel’s pocket seemed to move. I don’t know why, but I reached out to touch it. Belle stopped walking. Angel stopped talking. We were at a gate.
    Angel slipped down from Belle’s back, held the gate open. Belle stayed where she was. Angel climbed on the second bar at the back of the gate, rested her chin on her hand.
    “Aren’t you coming?”
    I thought she was talking to Belle, and then I realized I had to do something to make Belle walk forward.
    “What do I do?”
    “Well, you could kick her. You could shout at her. You could throw some food over there and she might go and get it.”
    Angel laughed softly, but her eyes were dark.
    “That’s not what you do, though, is it?” I said, determined not to look clueless again.
    I shuffled forward, sank into the curve of Belle’s back behind her shoulders.
    “What now?” I said.
    “Look where you want to go. Squeeze your legs a bit. Just kind of want her to go where you want to go.”
    “She’s not going to gallop off or anything?”
    I knew as soon as I’d said it that I shouldn’t have. Even in the pale light I saw the disappointment in Angel’s eyes. I felt like I had betrayed everything she’d shown me, interrupted some magic. So I just did what she said before the spell could break.
    I looked; I squeezed.
    And I laughed and Angel laughed when Belle walked right over to the gate, straight into Angel’s hands.

Twenty-Four
    “M ove up,” Angel said.
    She climbed to the top of the gate, stretched her leg over, and curved it around Belle’s wide ribs.
    Belle walked on, clipping down the middle of the lane. All of a sudden I felt wide-awake, as bright and alive as the stars.
    “Tell me the end of the story,” I said.
    Angel