The wind rattled through the night, sucking into it's fury the leaves and wrappers that littered the ground. Lily Hartley rolled over and murmured something in her sleep.
A few miles away, a grey horse paced the fence, flaring his nostrils and trying to shield himself from the biting wind. His paddock-mate, a rugged Shetland, sheltered under the remains of a derelict shed.
Lily awoke with a start. She could hear something. Straining her ears, she crept out of bed and into the room.
Her Dad lay asleep on the sofa. Why he slept there, Lily didn't know, there was a perfectly good bed. Pushing her Dad's odd sleeping habits to the back of her mind, she opened the door.
Wind cut across her face, stinging her cheeks and creeping up her pyjama leg. She remained still. She was no stranger to cold and pain.
She began searching for the source of the odd noise, but it didn't happen again. Maybe it had simply been a figment of her imagination. She stepped back inside the caravan, her head clouded with thoughts.
The grey horse lifted his head and let out a shrill whinny as Lily approached. She looked tired, she had dark bags under her eyes, a dark bruise on her cheek. The horse nudged her arm, dark eyes full of concern.
Lily smiled and fondly stroked the horse's muzzle. She had been visiting him and his paddock-mate for many months, sneaking away from her Dad and spending hours with her only friends. She touched the bruise on her cheek and winced.
I'll continue. :)
If your horse says no, you either asked the wrong question, or asked the question wrong.* ~Pat Parelli