Inside the ring, her grandfather steps closer to the chestnut filly. The horse is part Arab with a fine narrow head and a short straight back. The end of the lead rope dangles from the grandfather’s left hand. He stretches his right hand toward the filly but in the distance a chainsaw starts up and she startles and breaks into a canter around the outer rim of the round yard. Her hooves hitting the sand sound like the thud of doors shutting in the distance. ‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs to the filly. ‘It’s okay, lovely girl, don’t worry, it’s okay.’ Joe, the girl’s stepfather, stands in a larger square yard that encloses the round yard. ‘Can you see her tail, Holly?’ he says. ‘See how she holds it up when she gallops? That’s the Arab in her.’ Beside Joe is a second small pony that will eventually be his ride. The stocky dun gelding with a cropped mohawk mane throws his head up and down as the Arab heaves out a great snort before slowing to a trot, then a walk.
