Nightmare

by

Silverwolf ©



The following is fiction**

It was light when I pulled in to the farm, a full moon making 2am seem like a surrealists dawn. I watched the moon as I stretched, finishing with a full chested yawn that remined me of the days when I had a full chested set of lungs. These mare checks wore on my body more each year, but then what didn't. I reached across the bench seat of my Bronco for a battered green Thermos, hot chocolate warming my touch through the insulation.
"We may have to retire the old bottle Dad," I mumbled to the late winter sky as I entered the small metal door of the youngstock and nursery barn.

I closed the door carefully to avoid noise un-nessicarily exciting the 30+ head of Quarters in this smallest of the farms barns, and still was rewarded was a couple gentle knickers from just beyond my office. My 3 year old filly, bought from my employer after an injury made her unprofitable for him to keep, always seemed to be awake and alert whatever time I arrived. I set the thermos on the desk through my half opened office door, leaving the only light at this end of the barn my green glowing computer screen, again hoping to lessen the disturbance to the horses. Pregnant mares, especially when close, are nervous beings prone to halt labor at the slightest "fight or flight" provocation. The mare I was watching tonight was worse than most, and needed the closest attention which in my experience is typical. A footfall might bring her from the straw to her feet, or a labor pain...




Continueing from my office past the grain room and tack stall, I cornered into the barn itself. My fillys stall, my yearly bonus, was hard on the right, the left occupied by a currently unused hospital stall too small for a foaling but just right for injured or orphaned foals. Both stalls were seperated by open areas for hay and straw about the size of the stalls themselves, though that on the right was smaller as my fillys stall was larger.

"Lady," I whispered raspingly as my sharp turn brought my chest into sudden contact with her soft brown head. I circled a hand under her neck extending past the chest high stall door and gently stroked the far side of her muscular jaw. She knickered lightly again, me cooing "shuushes" in her stiff ear. I kissed her at the top of her skull, shuushed lightly again, and rolled past her toward the main portion of the barn. My eyes had yet to adjust to the blackness of the barn, but I knew the layout from daily chores.

Past the straw storage a left turn entered the main barn, glowing red from heat lamps on new foals and waiting mares in the first 6 stalls. The red light didn't seem to bother the horses at night, wether from monochrome vision or some other cause I can't say, which made checking on them without undo disturbance easier. I hung back and listened at the corner, waiting for the horses to tell me stories they might coceal once my presence was detected. I loved the noisy quiet of the barn this time of night. A bored snort here, a foal and mare knickering there meant peace to me and these sleepy sounds you could smell were on my list of the few things heaven must hold, along with a good book in the evening and a warm dog in your lap. I was listening for the unusual right now though, an odd grunt or a pained whinny, or even an over abundance of movement in the straw.



Hearing nothing, I breathed again just as the closest stall stood and snorted hard announcing my presence to those who would listen. Rounding the turn, I looked in the offenders stall smiling at a broken appy mare and her still sleeping one day old foal. The stall opposite hers held a 16 hand Chestnut knicknamed by the stall girls "Screwy" for her shying, nervous behavior, who was my target for the night. She was more than "screwy" when it came to breeding and foaling, the two times of year I had most contact with her. Her attitude in full heat to the stud was aggressive to the point of abuse, and her first two foalings had been difficult, one a twin miscarriage and the other a breach that I helped save. Despite not having offical daily contact with the broodmares, I wasn't a stranger to her though. I insisted I make daily contact with as many of those I could just so their trust in me was there.

Still on the opposite side of alleyway, I stretched my full height, gaining 6 feet by my tiptoes, and peered into her stall. She lay quietly on her left side, four hooves tucked together before her and her nose touching the straw beside them supporting her drowsy head. Her eyes were half opened but glassy, telling me she was asleep. Quietly, I proceeded down past the other nursery stalls checking the 3 more pairs and the one mare still a week or so away. All was quiet, for now.

I didn't see any reason to disturb the youngstock, so after listening again for unusual sounds I turned softly back for my office to kill a couple hours.



I bumped my "Lady" again passing her stall, and not wanting her whinnying to me waking the others, I stopped to stroke her neck and face again. I put my face close, inhaling her peculiar earth and fur and oil hosey scent. I touched my lips just below her wet brown eye, rewarded with a jerk and a nip at my shoulder. My fault, I thought. I knew she was shy about her face yet, but the taste of a kiss was compelling. Still fearing reprimand, the results of a now fired groom, she had backed to the rear of her stall. I stuck, not even twitching for what seemed a full 5 minutes. Gradually, her nose peeked over the door again and she blew, the return of her breath to her nostrils sending her messages I couldn't understand and could only half imagine. I let her extend her neck to touch me first. She knickered again, lightly.

I rubbed her neck again, on the underside, and whispered gently "Everythings OK girl."
She pushed her bony head into my chest, rubbing and then pulling it up past my chin and away. Still rubbing her soft, yeilding throat I slid my other hand along the stall latch lifting its well oiled bar and sliding it silently back. As I slipped through the narrowly opened door, she backed a step or two but stayed close and over my still moving hand. She pushed again, her nose close on my thigh, then riding the side of her face over stomach and chest with a low snort. After closing the stall door, I let my other hand travel from her ear opposite me down her neck and over her shoulder as the one on her throat moved lower to trace the triskel shaped scar where the left rope of her pectoral muscle was mostly missing. She swung her head against my chest again, then lay the weight of her young head on my shoulder, a damp eye moistening my cheek.



I stood rubbing her scar, remembering months of healing and complications, ineffective medications and incompetent vets. I spent night and day with her then, my dogs living in my office for days to keep us close to her should her terror and thrashing rip the abundant sutures. I wondered as I felt the ripped yet growing muscle beneath her skin what she was thinking.

She raised her head, puffed moist air in my face and stepped forward. My hand hanging loose rolled past her front leg and along her barrel. I began rubbing and lightly scratching her lower chest and lay my face on her back. I closed my eyes, taking her sound and smell and the quiet night as deep as my earlier yawn.

She shifted weight as my hands found alternately her hip on top and the suddenly narrow and less filled out area in front of her udders. She stretched her front hooves before her, lengthening her body and bringing her small nipples over my palm. I rubbed around and between them, the skin wet and hot and velvety soft. My other hand ran down and back up her soft haired rump, her tail between it and my body. She flicked her long tail toward the far side of her body, carrying it up and over my arm where it fell with my wrist lightly clasped beneath its thickened base. Still rubbing and caressing her nipples, my chest and face pressed ahead of the plane of her stifle, I slowly drew my far hand closer till the palm hovered fractionally over the "top" of her vulva, my thumb resting on the lower half circle of her rectum. I turned my hand, fingertips brushing teasingly past the rounded point of her sex.



She lifted her tail a bare inch. I let my fingertips touch her under her clit, rubbing in circles lightly and increasing pressure when I felt her body shorten and spine rise as she hunched and bent her hips. She knickered, turning her neck to look back toward my face. I kissed her back, my middle finger pushing now up and back, then down along the vulva where its flesh dissappears between her inner thighs. Her nipples now tucked between those same thighsd, I let my other hand run along her ribs and back as I raised my head and stepped behind her to her left. In the dim moonlight streaking through her wire covered stall window, I could just make out the blue-pink and cream of her clit and inner lips as she winked to my fingers manipulation. Her body dropped slightly, hips and rump swaying toward me as she extended head and neck in a continuous line and curled her prehensile upper lip over her stiff rimmed nostrils. With a sudden lift and cocking of her tail, she farted, then relaxed and straightened her body while stepping away from my hands. I walked around her, again rubbing and scratching her neck as she bent her head to her hay. Forgotten with her appetite, I stepped out of the stall, latched it while checking my watch and went to the office to doze an hour or so before checking the still quiet mare. Mentally, I added to my short list of heavens attributes as I closed my eyes.


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