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They stepped out into the frosty twilight, wrapped up against the chill, each carrying a torch. Anne led the way skirting the spinney, walking slowly, keeping the beam low. A mist hung in the air, and the spiky trees made crooked patterns around them.

Reaching the docking area, they stood together, scanning the bank on all sides.

‘What was it doing?’ Marnie spoke in a half-whisper.

‘Sort of nuzzling the ground. I think it was looking for grass.’

‘Show me where exactly it was standing.’

‘It was sort of through the trees over there.’ They had walked only a few paces when Anne stopped and knelt down. ‘Look here, in the snow.’

Marnie swept the ground with light. ‘Is that a trail?’

Keeping either side of the prints, they followed the track towards one of the barns. In the freezing mist they could see only a short way ahead. Suddenly Anne stopped.

‘Listen. Something’s moving.’

‘Round the corner of the barn,’ Marnie agreed.

‘What do we do? I mean, how do we approach it? Will it run away? I don’t know much about horses.’

‘Must be looking for food,’ Marnie said.

‘The fruit bowl!’ Anne exclaimed in a whisper. ‘We’ve got some apples on Sally. Shall I get them?’

‘You go, Anne. I’ll wait here.’

Anne was back in no time. They walked silently to the end of the barn and turned the corner. The horse was dark and heavily built, nibbling a tuft of grass beside the stone wall. It raised its head and snorted, condensation clouding the air round its nose. Anne pulled the stalk from an apple and advanced towards the animal, hand held out in front.

‘Here, horse. Would you like this?’

The horse bobbed its great head up and down, and for a moment Anne felt nervous. She stopped and spoke quietly.

‘It’s only an apple. You’ll like it, I think.’

She took a few more steps, raising the torch to light up the apple, taking care not to shine the beam into the horse’s face.

‘Here you are. If you like this one, I’ve got another.’

The horse took a step forward, lowered its mouth to Anne’s out-stretched palm and took the apple in its lips. They heard the crunch as its teeth closed on the fruit and the horse began chewing.

Marnie came to stand alongside Anne, who offered the second apple, which the horse took.

‘Something’s wrong,’ Marnie said softly.

Anne reached forward and stroked the side of the horse’s face. It scraped the ground with a hoof but did not back away.

‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Anne. ‘Where did you come from, Dobbin?’

‘He’s not some little girl’s pony, that’s for sure,’ said Marnie. ‘Look at the size of him. This is one powerful beast.’

Anne stepped sideways and examined the horse.

‘Not very tall but all muscle. You know, Marnie, it reminds me of –’

‘I know. The same idea occurred to me.’

‘But it couldn’t be, could it? Surely such things don’t exist any more.’

Throughout this exchange the horse stood quietly chewing. Having finished its apples, it nudged Anne gently with its nose and made a soft grunting snuffling sound.

‘Sorry, I haven’t any more,’ she said.

‘The point is,’ Marnie said, ‘it’s not a riding pony or a hunter, so what could it be? Where did it come from? Who’s its owner?’

‘And where’s its owner?’ Anne added.

Darkness had fallen, and Marnie and Anne began retracing the horse’s steps by torchlight. It turned and followed slowly behind them. Suddenly Marnie halted.

‘Wait a minute. We’ve already been this way.’

‘Twice in my case,’ Anne agreed. ‘I didn’t see anything when I went to fetch the apples from Sally.’

‘No other boats?’

‘Too misty to see.’

‘Well, if Dobbin is a boat horse … I know that sounds crazy, but if that’s what he is –’

‘She,’ Anne interrupted. ‘I, er, took a peek. I think she’s a lady horse.’

‘Right. So where’s her owner?’

They split forces. Anne was to continue back towards the canal while Marnie went round to take the footpath through the spinney. The horse followed Anne, who caught occasional glimpses of Marnie’s torchlight through the trees. As they walked, Anne spoke softly, hoping to inspire a feeling of trust in the animal. She had had no experience of horses in her life, but this one seemed to be accustomed to people and she hoped it would be at ease with her. She was wondering if there was a feminine equivalent of Dobbin, when a cry from the spinney made her freeze.

Anne set off at a slow jog on the snowy ground, calling over her shoulder.

‘Don’t go away, horse!’

She ran round to the end of the trees and found Marnie kneeling in the spinney, a short way from the footpath. A woman was lying face down on the ground.

© Leo McNeir 2011