Giorgio looked at the forbidding, heavy door. He drew a deep breath, hesitated, then lifted the latch and pushed. The creaking of the hinges sent Farfalla rearing to the rafters. Quietly Giorgio stepped inside and closed the door. He stood transfixed at the change in her—the ribs showing, the mantle harsh. Her stall was big enough, but lit by only one window, too high for looking out. It smelled of cold earth and hay and dung. All this he sensed in some faraway place in his mind. He had never before been alone with the mare, and he stood motionless, making no sound.
She too was electric with curiosity, pulling in the scent of him, blowing it out with a rattling snort.
"I am here," the boy said in a quiet tone. "It's only me."
The mare's head jerked high, her nostrils flared red, her ears flattened. "Stay back!" she warned. Fear was strong in her, but spirit, too. When Giorgio did not retreat, she wheeled about, took aim, and like a cat ready to spring, she gathered herself for a mighty kick. In the split second before her heels lashed out, he leaped against her rump, pressing his body hard against her. She was trapped as if her hind legs had been hobbled! Through his clothes he could feel her break out in lather. He too was drenched in sweat. Relief and happiness flooded into him as her muscles relaxed. He had won the first skirmish.
He went around now to her head and gently took hold of her halter. "You, so soft-eyed," he said. "You could not hurt me. Not ever. I am not afraid. Why are you afraid? Come," he coaxed, trying the new name softly. "Come, Gau-den-zia." And he led her out into the morning.
Doctor Celli could not hide his surprise. "Colombo!" he shouted to his farmer, who was throwing a pan of soaked acorns to the sow. "Look here! Already she knows who is master."
The farmer and Doctor Celli stood back in amazement while Giorgio lifted her hurt foot and held it between his knees. Carefully he pressed his hand from her hock down her cannon bone and along the tendon to a point just above the fetlock. To his great relief he could tell that the tendon was not bowed.
"The leg," Giorgio said, "should be rested if...."
Doctor Celli nodded. "So I told you! A month, maybe."
"No! No!" the boy spoke quickly. "If the tendon bowed out, then she would need rest. But now we got to keep her leg moving. The gristle otherwise will harden."