I reached down and patted her neck fondly. There are some things about this world that were just plain cool.

Epi and I angled up toward the bank, and I was surprised to see how steep and rocky it looked from this direction. It hadn’t seemed so bad coming down. Well, it was probably just the difference between seeing it from my feet and seeing it from horseback. Leaning forward, I urged Epi up toward our soft, green path—

Suddenly the rocks shifted, causing Epi to scramble and lunge awkwardly to keep her footing. I was jolted forward hard and had to grab her around the neck to keep from being thrown off. I could feel her struggling to regain solid footing. It was like she was trying to swim through rocky quicksand that kept sucking at her feet. She seemed to be unable to gain any ground as rocks and dirt tumbled around us. All I could do was hold tight and try not to let my weight shift too far to either side so that I wouldn’t cause her to lose her already precarious balance.

All at once we broke free and lurched up over the bank and onto solid ground. Ignoring my quivering stomach, I slid off Epi and began running my hands down her muscular legs. She was breathing hard and shaking all over. Any other horse would have been white-eyed and panicked, but Epi stood quietly, letting me complete my frantic examination.

“Good girl. There’s my sweet girl.” I kept talking to her, trying to calm my nerves as much as hers. “You were so brave. I am so proud of you.” I finished feeling all of her legs. No broken bones. No lacerations. She seemed okay.

But I knew from having grown up around horses the deceptive fragility of their legs. Once you witness one horse race where they come around the corner and a horse places a foot at just the wrong angle, and it snaps, you never forget it. I was ten years old the first time I saw a horse break a leg. It broke clean, between the knee and the hoof, and that horse kept on trying to finish the race with the bone of his leg jutting through the skin.

It just takes a single misstep.

I let Epi press her forehead into my chest and I rubbed her beautiful head, straightening her mussed mane. “You’re okay, you’re okay. Such a good girl.” I kept murmuring inane endearments as we brought our breathing and heart rate under some semblance of control.

Eventually she lifted her head and nuzzled my cheeks, which were wet with tears. I wiped my face and stepped back from her, looking her over again with a critical eye.

“I think you’re okay.” I walked a circle around her while she lowered her head and blew at a tuft of lush grass. I smiled. “You’re hungry. You must be okay.” She chewed a mouthful and blew a sigh at me. “Let’s not do that again. Okay?” She tossed her head. “Well, big girl, now I have to get back on you with no damn help at all.” Epi stopped chewing, and I swear she made a very female sounding “hmmph” noise through her nose. “Just hold still and don’t laugh.”

She held still, but as I groaned and struggled my way aboard, I can’t swear she didn’t laugh. We started forward and she seemed fine. Sighing in relief, I clucked her into a smooth trot. My hair, of course, had begun escaping from its braid of steel, and I began trying to poke curling red tendrils back into submission while humming the theme song from Bonanza.

“I give up.” Epi’s ears cocked back to listen to me. “No matter how tragically unfashionable, I seriously need a scrunchie.” About half of my hair was curling around my head like I was Medusa’s crazy redheaded sister. The other half was still clinging to the French braid. “Maybe I’ll start a new fashion trend.” Epi made no comment. I think she was just being nice.

Time for a new theme song.

I was halfway through humming the theme from I Dream of Jeannie when Epi’s trot faltered and slowed to a strange-feeling walk. It felt like she was trying to stay on her tiptoes, or rather her tiphooves. I pulled her to a stop and slid quickly off.

“What’s wrong, Epi?” I patted her neck and she tossed her head restlessly. “Let’s check it out.” Rule number one of horse troubleshooting: when in doubt, check the hooves. Grasping her left front leg low, I clucked at her and said, “Give, girl.” Wonderful, obedient animal that she was, she lifted her hoof. It looked normal. With my fingers I picked a couple of small stones out of the hoof base and pulled free a small dirt clod. Carefully and firmly I pressed my thumbs down on the frog part of her foot.

Yes, horses have frogs. Don’t try and figure it out, just take my word for it. Lift a horse’s hoof sometime. Look at the part that Vs and is soft. That’s the frog. And don’t bitch about the name, some ancient frog probably martyred itself for the betterment of horsekind. Show some respect.

Well, this frog sure seemed okay. Working my way around Epi, everything was just fine until I got to her right front hoof. When I pressed down on her frog she flinched and gave an equine groan of pain. I patted her neck to reassure her, and brushed away some clinging dirt and grass from the hoof. Moving my thumbs up higher on the soft V, I pressed again. This time the groan was louder and I could feel an abnormal warmth and mushiness under my thumbs. Gingerly, I set her foot down.

“Don’t quote me on this, I’m not a vet, but I think you’ve bruised your frog.” I was trying to keep my voice light and not let this unusually smart horse know that I was very damn worried about this turn of events. I looked down at the offending appendage. It was obvious she wasn’t putting much weight on it. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think your hoof hurts.”

She butted me with her nose.

“I thought so.” I rubbed her jawline and she leaned her head into my caress. “So I probably shouldn’t ride you. How about if we find a nice little clearing, maybe somewhere upstream where the bank isn’t so steep, and we rest for a while?”

Walking slowly, I led the way with Epi hobbling painfully behind me. I kept up a chattering monologue, and she walked with her forehead resting against my back in the space between my shoulder blades. I was glad she couldn’t see my eyes frantically scanning the land ahead of us, trying to find an easy place to descend. I knew I had to get her close to the river, and not just so that she could have water to drink. That hoof needed attention. My mind was rummaging through old horse-care-rules information I had filed away somewhere in my brain back in my youth. I just hoped they weren’t filed in the cells that my affinity for red wine had killed off. I seemed to remember that Epi’s kind of symptoms were telling me that the bruised area of her hoof should be iced. If I could get her to stand in the river for ten minutes or so, it seemed logical that it would stop some of the swelling and help the pain. Then she could rest and I’d figure out what the hell we were going to do next.

For a fleeting moment I wished ClanFintan would show up with the rescue posse. But reality intruded on my moment. The centaur was busy rounding up people and dealing with the creature crisis—one AWOL reluctant bride was not a big deal. And anyway, I’ve never been the kind of woman who lived her life pining after a knight in shining armor, praying that he would come charging in on a white horse to rescue me. In my particular case the whole horse/guy thing was causing me to unintentionally mix my metaphors. Which was giving me an English-teacher headache.

But luck was with me, and we hadn’t walked too far when we came to an abrupt right bend in the river. There were fewer trees here, so there was more erosion, and the grassy incline sloped gracefully down to meet the tumbling river. Picking our way carefully, I led Epi to the water.

Without any major mishap we made our way slowly to the river’s edge. Balancing myself with one hand against her flank, I pulled off my boots and rolled up my soft leather pant legs. Epi was done drinking and she nuzzled me with her wet muzzle.

“What we really need, old girl, is a couple of pedicures. But where the hell is a beautician when you need one, anyway?” I gave her a pat, then led her forward into the icy water. “How about we do the next best thing and soak our aching feet?” Epi seemed willing, gingerly following me as I picked my way between the largest of the slick rocks out a little way into the fast-moving current.

Ohmygod it was cold.

“Hey, Epi, have you ever heard the very sad, very Scottish love song ‘Loch Lomond’?” She lifted her right hoof fretfully and I leaned my weight against her left side so that she was forced to put it back in the cold water. She looked at me doubtfully but kept her hoof submerged. “It’s the story of two of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s men who were captured in the revolt. One of them was executed and one was set free. Rumor has it the song was written by the doomed soldier as a final love letter to his sweetheart.”

Epi looked clueless.

“Haven’t heard it, huh?” Cold, cold, cold. “Well, you’re in luck—not because I can sing, because as you already know, I can’t, but I do know all the words to all the verses. And, yes, I’m willing to teach you.” She sighed and I think she might have rolled her eyes. As I launched energetically into the first verse, I noticed that my aching feet were going numb. Clearing my throat I put on my best bad Scottish accent,

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond.

Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond…

As I worked my way through a pitiful rendition of one of my favorite ballads, I noticed that Epi’s attention was waning.

“Okay! Let’s sing that chorus one more time!”

…O ye’ll tak’ the high road and I’ll tak’ the low road,

An I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,

But me and my true love will never meet again

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond!