Cheval Maléfique
France. The 1500's.
Every day has been much the same. The wars rage on. The farms need tending. The bulls need herding. They’re tiring, these times, but the sun still rises each morning over the Camargue.
Despite everything, you’re still here. You were practically born in the saddle, the best of the best. There’s no horse you haven’t been able to ride, and no bull you haven’t been able to herd. So when Papa says the farm’s best mare has gotten loose overnight and run off into the infamous swamp, it isn’t a question of if you’ll go fetch her, but how soon you can leave. Maybe, you tell yourself, the mare will be close, and this will be easy. It’s a wonder you’re still an optimist through it all.
You saddle up your favorite horse, your trustworthy ‘Dauphin,’ and set off.
You wisely ride Dauphin to the back of the pasture, where a broken fence had been discovered after the mare went missing. Papa had quickly patched it back up, and the fresh wooden board makes it easy to find your starting point. It’s there where you notice the broken foliage of snapped tall grasses, and hoofprints– doubtless you’ve picked up the trail of the mare, and ride after the blessedly obvious signs until you hit one of the narrow, dirt roads that weaved around the sleepy homes, ranches, and pint-size towns of the Camargue.
The hoofprints continue down the path, so you push Dauphin into a trot while the way forward is obvious. Your mount flicks an ear and goes forward willingly, always having been a loyal and obedient horse. You carry on just long enough for both of you to be slightly short of breath, but that’s when you notice a cabane de gardian, one of the small cottages used by the gardian horsemen who watch over the marsh. If someone is inside, they might have seen your missing mare.
You slow Dauphin, pausing as you decide to stop at the cabane, or keep going while you have light and clear skies.
Papa always says to collect as much information as you can before setting off to solve a problem, so deciding to stop at the cabane feels like the right choice. You dismount Dauphin and tie him out front, then knock on the big wooden door out front. A few seconds pass, but eventually, the door swings open, just to your luck. There’s a gardian inside, who regards you with eyes aged beyond their years with his vocation’s wiseness and the tired dark circles beneath them. He still has on his boots and his wide dark hat; he looks ready to set off to move the bulls.
“It’s you,” he remarks, then ushers you inside. “Come in, come in. I made too much tea, and I need to get back out, so have a cup.”
You agree; the lavender tea out here is the best of the best. You settle down for a moment with your cup and are about to ask the gardian if he’s seen anything when he speaks up first.
“What a strange night it was,” says the gardian. “I’d have left earlier, but I lost sleep with the ruckus. Tried to look out the windows to see if it was horses or bulls rampaging down the road all night, but I couldn’t see a thing through all the fog. Did you notice anything at your place?”
You tell him you’re actually searching for a missing horse, but didn’t experience anything of the sort. He shudders and shrugs. “I can’t say whether your mare was caught up in the fuss last night or not, I’m afraid. But be careful out there, alright? Even our Camargue isn’t as safe as it used to be, between the Huguenots and Royalists fighting their bloody war, and all the creatures that have been on the prowl. I don’t just mean the wolves. The strife has brought out phantoms, I’m telling you. Beasts made of sin. Lou Drapé may be out there for all we know.”
You feel goosebumps erupt across your flesh upon hearing the gardian speak of the wretched ghost horse of the Camargue. Many children have been told the tale of the pale horse who drowns those who linger too close to the waters, but the gardians who work the swamp have never believed lou Drapé is only a story made to frighten the young.
You thank him, then go back outside and get back on Dauphin. The gardian goes the opposite direction, but you set out again and follow the hoofprints on the ground.
Dauphin listens without complaint when you steer him just off the road past the cabane, as the trail has angled into the grass alongside it. The terrain is slightly harder to navigate, on account of the denseness of the foliage and the frequent puddles or wet patches, but both you and your horse are used to it. The Camargue horses have been bred to handle these lands for hundreds of years, and Dauphin can pick his way amongst the swamp as easily as you can get a sense for where to turn inside it.
You keep going. The frogs provide a chorus to the song Dauphin’s hooves are making when you press him into a canter where the grasses are short.
Eventually, you come upon a section of sand and thistles. It's a clear space to ride in on a normal day, but today, it isn’t open at all. The hoofprints you’ve been following lead you to a rotten stench that soon gives way to the appearance of the source in the middle of your path. A dead calf, ripped apart and being set upon by flies, is splayed in the sand. What a waste, you think to yourself. It must be wolves. Provence has good wolfcatchers, but there’s no chance to summon one now.
With there being nothing you can do, you ride around the calf and continue after the hoofprints. They start to lead towards a stretch of river.
You travel partway down the river and slow during a stretch where the reeds part, and the clamor of frogs and flamingoes has gone quiet. Dauphin begins to pin his ears, and you instinctively reach down to stroke his neck. As you angle your gaze downwards, you notice both the hoofprints straying away from the water’s edge, and something odd at the river itself. Flies buzz over the surface, and you notice that they cluster around bubbles that are rising to the surface.
Something compels you to want to reach for it and investigate the river’s surface. However, your true quarry is moving in the other direction.
You kick your feet out of your stirrups and dismount Dauphin. The marshy ground beneath your feet squelches and makes every step feel heavy. But still, you labor until you step up to the waters edge, your boots unceremoniously submerged in sticky sand and a thin veneer of water.
You crouch, and it feels nice to no longer be standing. Gingerly then do you reach your hand out to the bubbling stretch of the river, as though offering a morsel to one of your horses. It’s then that you notice who is with you. The water reflects back the rippling reflection of a horse. Not Dauphin– you know him by heart. But a larger creature, ribby and white. Every angle of him looks wrong. Too sharp. Too crooked. Too wretched. The white horse stares back at you from the water, and its eyes glow red when it opens its mouth to reveal a sharp-fanged maw.
Snap!
Something grabs you from the water, painful and fierce. Blood bursts from your arm as a pale jaw clamps down on you and jerks you beneath the surface. The last thing you hear from above is a worried neigh from Dauphin.
You sink; the rivers in the Camargue couldn’t possibly be so deep. Yet still, you go down, down, down, until your vision fades away as you stare at the visage of a ghostly horse.
You have been killed by lou Drapé.
You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the yearning you feel to touch the surface. Papa raised a resilient one; you manage to grit your teeth and urge Dauphin on, back to the hoofprint trail. But before you look away from the river entirely, you swear you see the distorted image of a pale white horse atop the surface, there and then gone.
The ground beneath you is damp, but the stretch ahead is clear and bears little foliage beyond the native plants and the occasional tree. The wet helps you follow the hoofprints, for every step left a deep mark upon the ground.
You ride on.
After a long, hearty walk, you notice a horse and rider beneath one of the occasional trees. As your trail is carrying you beside that spot, you slow to get a closer look. It’s a woman, you realize, blending in well with a muted green dress that bears a grapevine brooch. Her mare is a typical Camargue grey, and the two appear to be having a rest in the shade.
“Ah! I’m not the only fool out and about after all,” she says in a sing-song voice that concludes with a laugh. “You’re a brave one, Rider.”
You ask the young woman what she means. At your probing, she draws both brows up.
“You don’t know?” she remarks. “Why, besides the damnable Huguenots and Royalists off and killing each other here and there, the Camargue hasn’t been anyone’s friend around this stretch for some time. If you ask me, it doesn’t feel right. No, not at all.”
You press her. Surely, that cannot be all, and she nods and continues.
“People have been going missing more often than usual after riding out. Happens, now and again, which I’m sure you know, but…” Her voice trails off. “Not two weeks ago, and a gardian told me this, and I trust him– another young gardian and his wife vanished out here after heading out on a normal old ride just like they did all the time. What I mean to say is that being even more careful than usual is a wondrous thing.”
Keeping one’s head on their shoulders was a wondrous thing indeed. You’re unsettled by the news, but thank her regardless. The young woman then mounts from the ground and offers a dainty wave.
“Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer is beautiful this time of year,” she hums as she departs. You go back on the trail, too.
You carry on for a little longer yet. The set of hooves continues to weave itself around the sand, marsh, and foliage. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes it’s hard. But no matter the challenges of the earth, your stalwart spirit keeps you going, and Dauphin continues on obediently.
After another clearing is passed, you find that a few sets of hoofprints seem to divulge in one spot, creating a mess of different impact marks on the ground. One set leads left, and the other, right. You’re left scratching your head and deciding which set to follow.
You follow the leftmost set of hoofprints. These eventually give way to thicker grasses and even taller reeds and trees. The ground beneath you squelches as you work your way amongst the marsh, then eventually stumble upon an old camp.
The fire has long since burnt out, and though part of the ground is flattened from where bed rolls might have been, they, too, are gone. There are a few empty containers nearby, such as a dried out tin cup, and an empty burlap that might’ve once held dried meat and bread.
Tangled in the mess, though, you find a torn page of paper. You smooth it out on your thigh and read.
‘I never thought this would happen to us. It doesn’t make sense. My husband knows the Camargue as well as any skilled gardian, and we hadn’t even thought to go out far. Just for a little while for some time alone. With my sister staying with us, we haven’t always gotten that.
So how could we have gotten turned around? We haven’t been able to find our way back to any of the roads and trails, and it’s as though we’re going in circles. My husband, angel that he is, keeps smiling and reassuring me that the Mistral winds are so strong they’re spinning us around. He’s trying to bring me comfort, I know that, but I wish we were both home.
If it’s the Mistral, then I offer my words to it. Perhaps this page will fly away and into the hands of someone who can come and help us.’
You lower the paper down and shudder. Wherever the couple is now, there’s no sign of them here. And upon looking for more evidence of hoofprints, you’ve hit a dead end, you realize, and have no choice but to double back.
You follow the rightmost set of hoofprints. You briefly look up as you follow them and see some of the colors in the sky have become warmer, and the sun has started to wane. It will be dark soon, which doesn’t sit well with you.
Still, you ride on, and cross a trail that has a dry bull’s skull laying on its side. It’s so white and distracting that you almost miss the warning signs of something worse to come. It’s Dauphin’s sudden pinned ears and shuffling on his feet that snaps you back into alertness and forces you to look forward in time to see the grey blurs darting in front of your vision.
Wolves!
Your grip tightens on your reins. The horse’s trail leads straight through them, three in all, who snarl and snap their jaws. Dauphin dances sideways, and that’s when you remember you have a long dagger on hand, and your fingers itch over its surface against your hip. You hesitate, trying to decide whether to try and fight, or run away!
Papa didn’t raise a fool, but he raised someone who was, at times, foolish. This was one of those times. You may be capable of herding the Camargue bulls and keeping them in check, but fighting off three wolves with naught but a baselard is not exactly within your repository of talents.
You try to fight, but it soon ends up being a mistake. Dauphin shies to the side as one leaps at him, then stumbles when one comes at you both from another side. You’re caught off balance and hit the ground. You immediately stab towards one wolf coming towards you, but then jaws clamp on your shoulder. You feel an explosion of pain for hardly a moment before another set rips at your throat, and then it’s all over.
You have been killed by wolves. What will Papa say?
Papa didn’t raise a fool. You’re no wolfcatcher, and even the officially commissioned ones would’ve had a hell of a time fighting off three wolves with one baselard. You kick Dauphin into a gallop, and he responds well, darting across the sands like you hadn’t been riding all day. The wolves howl and bark behind you, but eventually, they go silent as you manage to get away.
You wipe the sweat from your brow. Merde, that was close.
You continue to weave your way through the Camargue, trying your best to scan around your surroundings in case the missing horse is close and finally in eyesight. You don’t manage to spot the horse, but you do catch the characteristic appearance of an old campfire, and fallen sticks like someone had constructed a lean-to that had now fallen.
Since Dauphin could use a small rest and a drink, you rein up beside the camp and crouch down to sift through everything left behind. It’s not recent, you notice, and see a torn off page amongst a few charred bones and a torn square of cloth. You blow some sand off it, then lift it up and read.
‘Every hour I lose more hope. We can’t be lost. My husband knows the Camargue. He’s a good gardian, and a good man, and we CAN’T BE LOST.
He keeps taking my hands and kissing them, telling me we’ll find our way back onto one of the roads, soon. But it’s been two days, and no matter how hard we try, we either end up going in circles, or finding our way to the water’s edge. I feel like I’m seeing things, and I’m too afraid to tell him. Horses when there shouldn’t be any. The water running the wrong direction. The moon, always full and too large in the sky.
I’m terrified. So please, God, let us get out of this. I offer my words and my prayers for anyone who might be out there.’
A chill races down your spine, and you can’t pocket the paper soon enough; your eyes feel too much discomfort to keep looking at it. Wishing to be beyond the camp, you return to Dauphin, mount, and continue after the hoofprints.
The sun is setting. You never like being out this late, but a promise is a promise, and you swore you’d find that missing horse. So still you ride Dauphin on, but you begin to feel as mad as the missing woman did, for the river alongside your path looks like it's bubbling once again. When you look away, too, you could swear the river flows in the reverse.
It’s getting much darker, but you still find another camp while still riding beneath the sunset. Like any previous, this one has been abandoned, but there’s still a haphazard wooden structure set up against a tree, and a torn bedroll upon the ground. You dismount Dauphin, and find, tucked into the bedroll, another note. In the waning light, you just manage to make out the words.
‘I thought it couldn’t get worse. It has. While riding out today, something spooked my sweet husband’s horse, and even with all his skill, he hit the ground hard. His screams told me it was bad, and when I saw it, it was. His leg broke, and badly. Bless him, that he told me to ride on and leave him, try to get help on my own. I refused. I will not go anywhere without him. I love him too much to fathom crossing these parts alone.
If we perish out here, we perish out here together.
We still have my horse, so I set up our camp here, where he fell. We’ll try to ride double after a rest if his leg allows. First, I will have to set it. We had enough wine left for him to have a drink, and I’ve been waiting for it to take enough effect to try.
The Camargue has never been the most forgiving, has it been?’
Your fingers tighten on the paper until you crush the edges and force yourself to exhale and put it away. It’s dark now, and the camp feels all the more unsettling. Still, it would be smart to rest for the night and continue on in the morning. Or, you can leave the accursed camp and ride on through the night.
It wouldn’t seem quite fair to push Dauphin on so hard, so when you decide to make camp and dismount, you feel justified in your decision by his deep breath and hanging of his head. Your beloved mount is obviously tired, even with his fitness, so you untack him and scratch him on his neck– his favorite.
You hear the sounds of the frogs and occasional darting fish in the nearby river, but with your exhaustion, it’s all more peaceful, now. You smooth out your bedroll you pulled from your saddle atop the other– never hurts to have more of a cushion– and lay down. You lazily take a few bites of nuts from your pack, and ensure you apologize to Papa internally, as he always did warn you about eating while laying down, lest you choke. But everything goes down as it should, so you relax and yawn as you spread yourself out on the ground.
It’s when sleep has nearly claimed you that you feel unease prickle your skin. Slowly, you open your eyes, then peer out between the sticks of the shelter. The night is brighter than it should be, you realize. Only… no. Not the night. The figure.
A ghostly pale creature walks across the camp, idly sniffing at the remnants of the fire, and your saddle laid flat. You can’t make it out in full, but you can see that the monster is huge, and crooked-limbed. You hear, though, that it steps with the characteristic sound of hooves.
Merde.
Your heart races. Your hands itch. Whatever is out there, it’s wretched. You realize then that you have two choices. You can take off and run, or hold your breath and keep as still as possible in hopes it doesn’t see you.
Surely it was going to only be a matter of time before the creature found you. Your choice is clear: you must run. When you think it’s looking away, you spring to your feet and dart out of your shelter. There, you see the unwelcome guest in full; a dastardly, ghostly-pale horse that glows more than the moon stands amongst your things in camp, every limb and plane of flesh twisted and wrong in severe, jutted angles. The horse turns to look at you, and blinks with red eyes. It’s then that you realize who has come.
Lou Drapé.
Your legs act before your mind does. Suddenly you’re running, flying towards where you left Dauphin, but your horse is no longer there. But if you stop moving, you’re dead. You run as fast as your feet can allow, but the terrain grows wetter and heavier. Your feet sink, and sink, and every stride is a chore.
Pounding hoofprints sound out behind you. Closer, closer, closer.
Snap!
How quickly the phantom horse manages to run you down and bring a hoof down on your neck.
Snap!
And how little it hurts when lou Drapé takes you in his maw and drags you into the river to finish you off.
You have been killed by lou Drapé.
Running would be a death sentence. Running would be the end. You hold your breath.
The creature continues to walk around the camp. You hear steam blow out from its nostrils. Your lungs scream. You want to exhale, too.
You won’t die here. You can’t.
The creature walks to a space between the sticks of your shelter that is big enough for you to see it in full. Before you stands a dastardly, ghostly-pale horse that glows more than the moon stands amongst your things in camp, every limb and plane of flesh twisted and wrong in severe, jutted angles. When you spot its eyes, you see that they glow red.
Merde, you think in horror. Because that’s not any ordinary phantom. That’s lou Drapé.
Just when you think you’ll move or gasp from holding your breath, the beast flicks an ear and trots off towards the river. It doesn’t spare a passing glance behind, and simply trots away until it’s completely submerged, and gone.
Finally, you’re able to sleep. Well, as poorly as someone who has had a fright, might.
Dawn breaks, and you pull yourself out from your bedroll, shivering. Dauphin grazes nearby, seemingly fine despite the night you had. It weighs heavy on you, and part of you wants to break your promise and ride back to your home and accept that the lost horse is gone. Of course, you can also still push on ahead, as Papa would tell you to do.
There would definitely be no opportunity for you to work the Camargue and find the missing horse if you’re dead. And though you gave it your best try, you accept that this particular equestrian assignment has been beyond you, and you fear landing in an early grave if you stay out any longer.
You decide to mount Dauphin and ride not after any tracks, but back in the direction of your family’s cabane and the comfort of home. You make it there with little issue, albeit some disappointment from the other horsemen that you didn’t see through your mission.
You go out a few more times to look for the missing horse, but you never do find her. The missing couple doesn’t come up again either, and as the months go on, more and more people gradually vanish when out in the Camargue. Sometimes there are no traces. Sometimes, people swear they saw a ghostly white horse before never seeing their loved one again.
S'acò's pas vuei, sara deman, some say in the Provençal tongue as the days drag on.
If not today, then tomorrow.
No. Papa didn’t raise a quitter. You’re the best equestrian around, and if anyone can find this missing horse, it’s you. Maybe all those tumbles off horses have given you too many knocks to the head as well, because part of you thinks you’d rather die than admit defeat when sent out on a mission in the Camargue.
So you do. You keep on. You see hoofprints leading away from the camp, not with the odd, huge-hooved gait of lou Drapé, but back of that of an ordinary horse. Dauphin, now rested, eagerly follows your guidance as you push him into a trot into the thick of sandy dunes and wet boggy greenery.
You almost trip over the campsite in front of you. Dauphin careens to a halt just before he can kick over the old remains of a fire and scattered traces of canteens and empty cloth wrappings that might have once held food. A bedroll is there too, sandy and empty.
With Dauphin stopped, you slide off and take a closer look. It’s then that you notice the characteristic beautiful black gardian hat in the middle of camp, resting innocently on the sand. And just beneath it, you see, is a torn off paper. You shake it loose and read it.
‘I won’t leave him.
He can’t go on. And I can’t without him. I won’t let him go, and so it seems we’ll go together.
The water is boiling, and I see in it a white horse. It isn’t mine. Mine had spooked and run off yesterday, and she was so much prettier than this creature staring at me now.
It’s coming closer now, and I see its eyes are red. I hope to God my husband’s fever is enough that he is not aware of what’s happening in case it hurts.
Death comes for us all. But at least I also had love.’
Your chest aches when you finish reading the letter, and you don’t even notice your hand sliding over your heart and letting it linger there. Nothing feels like the right thing to say, or do, so you sit in silence for a while, up until Dauphin comes wandering over on his own and tickles your shoulder with his grey muzzle. You pet him, then kiss his nose when you rise. At least you too have love.
You cross your heart, then proceed back to the tracks you’ve been following for so long. Two pairs mix in the campsite, then go right and left. You frown at them both as you mount back up and try to decide if you ought to ride to the left or right sets.
It’s time to see this through. You draw in a breath, steel yourself, and opt to go to the left with Dauphin. You carefully guide him along the side of the shallows, and to your relief, the hoofprints in the sand look fresh.
You don’t ride long before a glint of white catches your eye, and you snap into focus. There, idly milling by the puddles and chewing on hard, salty shrubs is the very mare you set out for. Her long forelock and little grey scar on her haunches are unmistakable. When she lifts her head to watch you, you ready your rope at your side and ride up to her. She doesn’t put up a fight, instead easily allowing you to tie her and begin to lead her back in the direction of your lands.
Do you have any idea how much trouble you put me through? you think to yourself with a sigh and shake of your head as you regard the mare. That is, of course, exactly the moment when another blur of white forces you to turn your head.
It’s the creature. There, standing in the waters, and watching you. Red eyes blink back at you, but the ghostly white horse makes no move.
You hold your breath once again, but your mind is loud with a thought.
Did you take them, Drapé?
But the horse has no answer for you. Because when you next blink, the beast is gone, and the waters are only waters once more.
You manage to make it back to civilization with the lost mare in tow. Papa is pleased, and the residents of the Camargue, too. “Well done,” they say, as though you relished any part of it. “We can always count on you,” they say as well, as if you hadn’t wanted to run so many times over.
As fighting continues, and the Camargue still needs tending, you still find yourself saddling up Dauphin and putting your foot in the stirrup. You can’t stop being needed, and also can’t stop taking pleasure in the fact that people do need you, and that you can help. You just hope to have a good horse underneath you when you do, and don’t run into lou Drapé.
There will always be troubles. And so you hum to yourself as you ride and repeat a Provençal phrase: S'acò's pas vuei, sara deman.
If not today, then tomorrow.
You have found the missing horse!
You grit your teeth and decide to go right. You’re desperate to see this through, and also ensure Papa doesn’t one day find your corpse for your troubles. You urge Dauphin along and guide him along the shallows. Thankfully, the sand has allowed for the hoofprints you’re following to appear suitably fresh and clear.
It isn’t long before you see a glint of white before you, caught up in the rays of the sun. You squint your eyes and ride closer as you try to focus your vision. The truth reveals itself; there’s a horse straight ahead, and it isn’t your missing mare. It’s a Camargue grey, skinny and showing every rib under its dull coat and tangled mane and tail. The creature looks like it would be feral, but you see, too, that it bears a broken bridle on its head, with some painful rubs beneath the dry, salty leather. The whites of its eyes show when it regards you, and it trembles faintly with obvious fear.
You can’t leave this horse out there, even if it isn’t the one you came looking for. You sigh, then draw your rope and ride after it. It spooks at first and tries to canter off, but its weary state doesn’t hold up to your fine handling and Dauphin’s masterful footwork. You’re able to herd it towards the edge of the shore, then grab one of the broken reins as the horse tries to bolt past. Before long, you have it tied to your saddle and calm. A respite comes when you catch your breath and scratch its neck, and all three of you are more relaxed when you ride back towards the camp.
When you walk back, the horse briefly tugs on the rope and maneuvers over to the forgotten bedroll and hat on the ground. The grey lowers its head and sniffs both, and for a moment, you swear you hear a voice.
At least I also had love.
You bite your lip and release a shaky exhale when you pet the horse and tell the creature that they’re not coming back.
You proceed towards the other set of hoofprints with your additional horse in tow, which you notice is a mare.
You don’t ride long before another cloud of white catches your eye, and you snap into focus. There, idly milling by the puddles and chewing on hard, salty shrubs is the very mare you set out for. Her long forelock and little grey scar on her haunches are unmistakable. When she lifts her head to watch you, you ready your rope at your side and ride up to her. She doesn’t put up a fight, instead easily allowing you to tie her.
You attach her to the other horse, and the two touch noses curiously. You allow them that break, and are glad the missing mare has another kindred spirit for the journey back. What is it with horses and the trials they cause?
Do you have any idea how much trouble you put me through? you think to yourself with a sigh and shake of your head as you regard the mare. That is, of course, exactly the moment when another blur of white forces you to turn your head.
It’s the creature. There, standing in the waters, and watching you. Red eyes blink back at you, but the ghostly white horse makes no move.
You hold your breath once again, but your mind is loud with a thought.
Did you take them, Drapé?
But the horse has no answer for you. Because when you next blink, the beast is gone, and the waters are only waters once more.
You manage to make it back to civilization with the lost mare and new horse in tow. Some recognize the horse as one possessed by the couple that had vanished into the Camargue, but, doubting now that they’d ever come back, the family tells you to keep the horse for yourself. Papa is pleased, and the residents of the Camargue, too. “Well done,” they say, as though you relished any part of it. “We can always count on you,” they say as well, as if you hadn’t wanted to run so many times over.
As fighting continues, and the Camargue still needs tending, you still find yourself saddling up Dauphin and putting your foot in the stirrup. You can’t stop being needed, and also can’t stop taking pleasure in the fact that people do need you, and that you can help. You just hope to have a good horse underneath you when you do, and don’t run into lou Drapé.
There will always be troubles. And so you hum to yourself as you ride and repeat a Provençal phrase: S'acò's pas vuei, sara deman.
If not today, then tomorrow.
You have found the missing horse, and an additional one!
You bite your lip in frustration. Both you and Dauphin are terribly tired, but something doesn’t sit right at all. Thus do you find yourself apologizing profusely to your loyal horse when you steer off to the side and decide to ride on. It isn’t what you’d normally choose to do, but this hasn’t been a normal day.
He breathes heavily, so you do the half-decent thing and ride slowly along. It’s difficult to spy tracks, too, in the darkness, so your pace is something of a crawl.
Still, you make some progress, and try to hold onto that. Perhaps you can do this. Perhaps the night isn’t full of terrors at all. Alas, you only manage a sliver of optimism before you hear an accursed scream break the silence in the distance that even makes Dauphin shy to the side and prance. Merde, what a sound! You could’ve sworn you were alone, but it might not be so. You could go and investigate it, or keep going.
If someone was in trouble and you had the chance to help them, but didn’t, Papa would’ve had you by the ear as soon as he found out so as to toss you into the sea. So, naturally, you draw in a breath and guide Dauphin towards the sound to look and see what caused it.
Doing so brings you to the edge of one of the large lakes close to the shoreline. The moon and stars shimmer atop its surface, and it might have been beautiful, had you not then caught sight of the bubbling taking place over the top of the water. You frown, for such a thing is unnatural, and is made all the more horrible by your realization that you aren’t alone indeed. Across the water, you see it. A dastardly, ghostly-pale horse that glows more than the moon stands amongst the reeds, every limb and plane of flesh twisted and wrong in severe, jutted angles. When it blinks, its eyes are red.
God help you, because you know in your heart it’s lou Drapé.
Bile rises in your throat, and you freeze. The phantom hasn’t seen you yet, so your heart races while you consider your options of either trying to run, or hiding. There’s a nearby rocky outcropping that you think might fit you and Dauphin behind it.
The natural urge is to run. Horses might be flight animals, but you may very well be one, too. So you kick Dauphin to speed and try to run the other way, only, your poor horse is exhausted. He tries, and tries, and gallops as quickly as he can, but the day has taken its toll on your steed, and he struggles covering the sand and scrub.
Still, you plead with him to give you more, to go faster, since you hear hoofprints behind you, and swear you feel the sensation of hot breath on your neck. You pull up alongside one of the rivers, riding and riding, running and–
Snap!
Teeth close around your neck, and the next thing you know, you’re being ripped off your beloved horse and thrown to the ground. You don’t even manage to gasp for air, for the creature soon ravages you again with its maw and leaps into the river with you with so much rapidity that you couldn’t tell what was air, and what was water.
But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because you sink, and sink, and sink. You were never going to make it out of this alive.
You have been killed by lou Drapé.
Having to ride slowly almost drives you to madness, but you fear that sudden movements will draw lou Drapé’s eye. You tuck yourself behind the rocks after a little time that feels like it wasn’t brief at all, then dismount and clutch your loyal friend.
You wait. And wait. And wait.
Minutes pass. Hours, you think.
But when you look out again after not being able to take it anymore, you see that lou Drapé is gone. Foul creature and its schemes! You’re exhausted and furious both, but there’s no time to lament. You simply mount back up and return to the trail.
By God, you’ll need a nap when all of this is done, and a long one. You pet Dauphin as you ride along for some time, and he hangs his head as you go along in exhaustion.
You deserve better, you think towards Dauphin. Something about a weary animal and a lack of breakfast brings out the self-deprecation and remorse in you.
After riding close to the shore, you almost trip over the campsite in front of you. Dauphin careens to a halt just before he can kick over the old remains of a fire and scattered traces of canteens and empty cloth wrappings that might have once held food. A bedroll is there too, sandy and empty.
With Dauphin stopped, you slide off and take a closer look. It’s then that you notice the characteristic beautiful black gardian hat in the middle of camp, resting innocently on the sand. And just beneath it, you see, is a torn off paper. You shake it loose and read it, which is slow going with the poor light.
‘I won’t leave him.
He can’t go on. And I can’t without him. I won’t let him go, and so it seems we’ll go together.
The water is boiling, and I see in it a white horse. It isn’t mine. Mine had spooked and run off yesterday, and she was so much prettier than this creature staring at me now.
It’s coming closer now, and I see its eyes are red. I hope to God my husband’s fever is enough that he is not aware of what’s happening in case it hurts.
Death comes for us all. But at least I also had love.’
Your chest aches when you finish reading the letter, and you don’t even notice your hand sliding over your heart and letting it linger there. Nothing feels like the right thing to say, or do, so you sit in silence for a while, up until Dauphin comes wandering over on his own and tickles your shoulder with his grey muzzle. You pet him, then kiss his nose when you rise. At least you too have love.
You cross your heart and loosen his girth. He deserves a break; any probing you do, you decide you can accomplish on foot. You look around and find that two pairs of prints mix in the campsite, then go right and left. You frown at them both as you try to decide if you ought to ride to the left or right sets.
You grit your teeth and decide to go left. You’re desperate to see this through, and also ensure Papa doesn’t one day find your corpse for your troubles. Your boots sink in the shallows, causing you to labor terribly, but thankfully, the sand has allowed for the hoofprints you’re following to appear suitably fresh and clear.
You don’t ride long before a glint of white catches your eye, and you snap into focus. There, idly milling by the puddles and chewing on hard, salty shrubs is the very mare you set out for. Her long forelock and little grey scar on her haunches are unmistakable. When she lifts her head to watch you, you ready your rope at your side and walk up to her. She doesn’t put up a fight, instead simply flicking an ear back as you ready to tie her.
Do you have any idea how much trouble you put me through? you think to yourself with a sigh and shake of your head as you regard the mare. That is, of course, exactly the moment when another blur of white forces you to turn your head.
It’s the creature. There, standing in the waters, and watching you. Red eyes blink back at you, but the ghostly white horse makes no move.
You hold your breath once again, but your mind is loud with a thought.
Did you take them, Drapé?
But the horse has no answer for you but to charge. It leaps across the waters, and the mare before you shies away and bolts. You turn to run, too, but your boots are sinking again, and your legs are heavy, and the phantom is gaining, gaining, gaining and–
Snap!
A heavy force crashes into you, and darkness comes instantly when a hoof lands on your neck.
Some weeks after, gardians find your body floating in the water. You had died so quickly you hadn’t even had the chance to apologize internally to Dauphin and Papa.
You have been killed by lou Drapé.
You grit your teeth and decide to go right. You’re desperate to see this through, and also ensure Papa doesn’t one day find your corpse for your troubles. Your boots sink in the shallows, causing you to labor terribly, but thankfully, the sand has allowed for the hoofprints you’re following to appear suitably fresh and clear.
It isn’t long before you see a glint of white before you, caught up in the lights of the breaking dawn. You squint your eyes and ride closer as you try to focus your vision. The truth reveals itself; there’s a horse straight ahead, and it isn’t your missing mare. It’s a Camargue grey, skinny and showing every rib under its dull coat and tangled mane and tail. The creature looks like it would be feral, but you see, too, that it bears a broken bridle on its head, with some painful rubs beneath the dry, salty leather. The whites of its eyes show when it regards you, and it trembles faintly with obvious fear.
You can’t leave this horse out there, even if it isn’t the one you came looking for. You sigh, then draw your rope off your belt and walk up to it. It backs off at first, but soon puts up no fight, and allows for you to easily slide off the decaying bridle and replace it when your deftly tied rope, transfixed into a headstall and a lead. The horse, a mare you realize, gingerly follows you back to camp. When you return, the horse briefly tugs on the rope and maneuvers over to the forgotten bedroll and hat on the ground. The grey lowers its head and sniffs both, and for a moment, you swear you hear a voice.
At least I also had love.
You bite your lip and release a shaky exhale when you pet the horse and tell the creature that they’re not coming back.
You tie the new horse beside Dauphin, and ready to search the other way.
You don’t walk long before a cloud of white catches your eye, and you snap into focus. There, idly milling by the puddles and chewing on hard, salty shrubs is the very mare you set out for. Her long forelock and little grey scar on her haunches are unmistakable. When she lifts her head to watch you, you ready your rope at your side and walk up to her. She doesn’t put up a fight, instead simply flicking an ear back as you ready to tie her.
Do you have any idea how much trouble you put me through? you think to yourself with a sigh and shake of your head as you regard the mare. That is, of course, exactly the moment when another blur of white forces you to turn your head.
It’s the creature. There, standing in the waters, and watching you. Red eyes blink back at you, but the ghostly white horse makes no move.
You hold your breath once again, but your mind is loud with a thought.
Did you take them, Drapé?
You have no time to waste. In a panic, you push off your feet and propel yourself bareback onto the mare, then kick her into a panicked gallop as the beast bears down on you from behind. Thank God your horse is swift, because her flight gives you enough time to consider your options. You could turn away, make for the swamps– or steer her back towards the camp where Dauphin and the other mare are. Away is an idea that makes sense, but refusing to leave your beloved mount is logical, too.
You despair as you apologize to Dauphin in your mind, for you make the decision to steer the missing mare towards the swamps in the direction of home. She answers rapidly, flying with great haste even as lou Drapé comes closer and closer behind.
She’s fast. So fast you think you can get out of this.
Squelch!
But then the ground changes. The sand gives way to sinking mud. Her legs plummet too far into the marsh. Suddenly she’s tripping, then you’re both falling, and then, you’re prone on the ground.
You only manage to roll painfully on your back in time to see the ghostly horse coming down on you from above. You know what’s coming will hurt, and it does. The stinking teeth inside its maw grab you by the neck, and your blood spurts when the creature flings you into the nearby waters.
And then you sink, and sink, and sink, and are never seen again.
You have been killed by lou Drapé.
No. No matter what, you can’t leave Dauphin. You won’t. If both of you are going to be devoured by this creature, then you’ll go together, same as that couple did.
So you steer the mare towards camp, and go galloping there along the shore. You see Dauphin and the other missing mare there, still tied together. You aim to leap off, to undue their leads to give them a chance by freeing them, but Dauphin beats you to it. He rips back on his reins and free both him and the other horse right as you tear into camp, and lou Drapé does as well behind you.
You open your mouth to scream at Dauphin to run, and he does, but the other way. You don't flee, instead rushing forward in the direction of lou Drapé behind you. You turn your head just in time to see your beloved Camargue horse slam himself into the phantom and rip at its neck with his teeth.
You cry out. He’ll get himself killed. You try to rein in the mare you’re on, but she keeps running, evidently spooked, and the other comes after you as well. Two mares for your troubles are well and good, but you can’t lose Dauphin!
You haul on your reins, but the horses won’t stop. Neither will lou Drapé. You see the creature still, battling with Dauphin, who despite his exhaustion, fights with as much ferocity as any stallion trying to take over a band. The beast continues to try and rush after you, but Dauphin keeps trying to delay it.
It can’t end like this!
And then, it doesn’t.
The sun peels itself up from the horizon, and as soon as it’s free, the ghostly-white horse fades into the foggy atmosphere of the Camargue. Your horse slows, and it gives Dauphin the time to trot up to you and the other mares. His sides are heaving, and his tack is broken, but save for a few cuts, he’s whole.
This damn horse was going to get everything good he’s ever wanted when you get back. You swear it. So strong is your relief that he’s here and did what he did that you dismount the mare and walk up to him with tears in your eyes to hug your arms around his stocky white neck to thank him.
He deserves a rest, and you give him one. You take a respite with your steed and the two mares, then continue on back to civilization.
You manage to make it back to civilization with the lost mare and new horse in tow. Some recognize the horse as one possessed by the couple that had vanished into the Camargue, but, doubting now that they’d ever come back, the family tells you to keep the horse for yourself. Papa is pleased, and the residents of the Camargue, too. “Well done,” they say, as though you relished any part of it. “We can always count on you,” they say as well, as if you hadn’t wanted to run so many times over.
As fighting continues, and the Camargue still needs tending, you still find yourself saddling up Dauphin and putting your foot in the stirrup. You can’t stop being needed, and also can’t stop taking pleasure in the fact that people do need you, and that you can help. You just hope to have a good horse underneath you when you do, and don’t run into lou Drapé.
There will always be troubles. And so you hum to yourself as you ride and repeat a Provençal phrase: S'acò's pas vuei, sara deman.
If not today, then tomorrow.
You have found the missing horse, and an additional one!
