Friday, January 16, 2009
It had been a long time since Jasfoup had seen someone gallop that hard into the stable yard. One could almost believe this was still the eighteenth century rather than the twenty-first.. With practiced ease he calmed the sweat-flecked, terrified horse, holding the reins until both it and the rider had calmed sufficiently to speak.
“A wolf,” said the woman, pointing back into the woods. “It attacked my horse.”
Jasfoup frowned. “I was under the impression, madam, they wolves were extinct, and there are no wildlife parks or zoos within thirty miles. A stray dog is more likely, don’t you think?”
“I… I suppose so.” The woman laughed nervously. “Silly to think it was a wolf, in hindsight. Whoever heard of such a thing? I ought to go back – I think Sheba here trampled it.”
“You’d never find it again if you did,” said Jasfoup. “Your horse is fine, just go home.”
“And try to stay on the bridal path in future. This is private property, remember.”
The woman just waved as she trampled Harold’s croquet lawn.
Felicia never said a word about the line of hoof-shaped bruises down her back.