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[Editorial] [Words from the Staff] [Featured
Discipline]
[Featured
Equine]
[Book
Review]
[Glossary]
["Ask
The Trainer"]
["The
Help Desk"]
[Poetry]
[Contests]
[Writing
for the E-Zine]
[Submission Tips & Guidelines] © Equine
Photograph
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 With a blissful sigh, Arwen settled back comfortably in the saddle, resting her hands on the pommel. As she did so, the flashlight tucked behind her slipped, and with a dull thud, it met the ground. Unknowingly, the horses behind crushed it with hooves and nothing was left but smashed gadgets. Everyone was clothed in sweatshirts because of the crisp November air; the horses were fiery and brisk walkers; their riders were merry and brimming with chatter. "A perfect night for a trail ride," Arwen thought, casting a thoughtful glance at her grandpa who was confidently leading the riders. More quiet and shy than the others, Arwen soon found herself at the rear of the group, partly because of her personality, and partly because of her 4-year-old mare, who had a tendency to be lazy. Absorbed in thoughts of how she might describe this magical ride to her friend in faraway Oregon, Arwen failed to notice her comrades fade slowly into the shadows, their gleeful laughter a mere echo in her thoughts. An owl hooted shrilly, bringing the 12-year-old back to reality with a start. Her mother had always said her daydreaming would get her into trouble, and now the time came when the truth in the words was revealed. A deathly silence met her ears, save for the lonely trees swaying in the steady but forceful breeze, young bows creaking and colorful leaves whispering. The moon, a full, brilliant orange, cast eerie shadows and the forest went from a place of awesome beauty to a place of utmost fear. Panic-stricken, Arwen groped for her flashlight strapped to her saddle, but, to her dismay, it was gone. She was alone, in the middle of a forest, with no source of light and without the slightest idea of her whereabouts. After an anxious nudge from her booted heel to urge Sweet Victory into a trot, the reluctant Andalusian picked up the pace, snorting. With eyes darting nervously ahead, Arwen forced her mind to concentrate on finding the other riders.
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