That Horse and Me...

The horse was slow. I reckon it the slowest animal ever bred on four legs. And no amount of rib-kicking would get the stupid beast to move any quicker. Our tiny group was miles ahead, hidden behind a snow-covered horizon. Even the guides had laughed their cheeky Mongol giggle and cantered off. I resigned myself to a few lonely hours, the horse trudging along a thin trail that had been etched into the taiga over thousands of slow-turning years.

The two of us weaved among pine, over great expanses of bracken and wild herb. We splashed through clear, flat rivers, and crossed pass after mountain pass, each a gateway to some of the last wilderness in Mongolia. Any hint of diesel fume, or the pungent stink of cigarette and human piss that rose from the local town was days behind. Instead, the crush of native herbs mingled with the frozen, untainted mountain wind.

Sleet began to fall, and my beard grew crystals. My frozen hands found it painful to grasp the reins. All I wanted to do was cry. One wet, freezing hour followed by a second and nightfall would soon creep its way up this Siberian valley.

The horse got so slow I thought it was going to die so I climbed off and walked, and the animal neighed and nudged at the side of my neck. Then it decided to nip me on the arse every few minutes. I was going to murder it. I’d never felt so hopeless or lost, so utterly alone.

As I reached a point of absolute dejection, the dumb creature decided it was going no further. I pulled, but the tug meant nothing. Turning, ready to punch its hairy nose, I found it staring into the undergrowth, its ears pricked and eyes wide and white. I yelled at it, once, twice but the horse remained transfixed. The bear didn’t.

Attracted by the noise, an enormous fur-ball waddled out from behind a grove of pine. It was my turn to freeze, my eyes wide and white. Sniffing the air, the bear rose onto its back legs and roared.

The horse looked at me. I looked at the horse. May have been the lack of movement, but the bear grew curious, rested on its four paws, and moved a step closer. We bolted. The horse and I ran as fast as the muddy trail allowed, the two of us skidding, slipping, falling and making all manner of pathetic noise.

The horse escaped over the horizon, a blurred outline where the trail cut through a pocket of rock and heather. Glancing back, the bear had vanished, so I slowed my retreat, and when breath returned I began a tirade of abuse.

But I found my companion waiting, and from the moment I climbed on its back, the sleet turned to a soft, pleasant snow. Grinning like our Mongolian guides, the two of us galloped in the direction of the Tsaatan and their comforting milk-tea.