Maggie was already in the yard, washing the colt. The cobblestones about the horse’s legs were polished dark by the water running off his flanks and flecked white between them where the soapy rivulets trickled down to the drain along the fence. Glyndwr’s coat shone like a chestnut freshly split from its shell. Maggie worked over him with a towel, rubbing it in big circular movements over the slabs of muscle across his shoulders and rump. The horse lifted his head as Alex approached, pulling his tether tight before lowering his muzzle again to the calf nuts lying in the German’s outstretched palm.“Don’t give him those now, mun. You’ll only excite him,” Maggie said.Alex smiled back at her, not understanding yet understanding at the same time. A swallow darted from under the eaves of the stable. Alex followed its flight as it banked and carved above them, the blades of its wings, the cut throat of its chest, quick against the morning sky.“Here,” Maggie said, throwing him a pair of red bandages.
