Where the Wild things Are

If we could talk to the animals, learn their languages Think of all the things we could discuss If we could walk with the animals, talk with the animals, Grunt and squeak and squawk with the animals, And they could squeak and squawk and speak and talk to us.

No one had asked why I wanted the gear and I am not sure I could have answered in a way that would have been sufficient. Most assumed they knew, that it was for Me Too or those that I'd spoken to of the massive kaiila I'd seen thought I had this hair brain scheme to catch him and ride him. None of these concepts had anything to do with my reasoning. It would only be later speaking with Fonce when a glimpse of it would be revealed and he did not press.
Slowly the pieces of leather had begun to take shape beneath my fingers. I felt driven to rip the bit and halter apart and start them over again, studying the how and why of them as I began to put them back together. It wasn't perfection that I was seeking but understanding of their precise purpose. Different imageries raced through my thoughts as I put the halter over my knee and moved my leg by use of the instrument until I could feel both the guidance and the mastery of it. They were still two separate entities to me. The bit raked into my shin, creating a deep line and circles began to appear on each side of my calves. I used these pieces before hundreds of times in my life time, guiding equestrians through paces, shows and more numerous events without ever giving it any thought. Not once had I considered what it felt like to the beast, how pulling on one rein created the movement I desired from the animal, or how the animal knew and understood what was expected when the leather drew one direction or the other. Now I wanted to know. For a brief moment I even lifted it to force it between my teeth. The cold steel spreading the flesh of my mouth painfully to be accepted and the tug from side to side forcing movement to occur closed my eyes so that reaped every nuance from it. What was it that transpired between rider and mount that created the fluid motions .. the symbiosis?
I did picture Hakan in my mind many times while I worked the braids until they almost looked new again though it was never with the tack. They were fleeting however, despite the breathtakingly beautiful imaginings of the wind and world itself speeding by. When I closed my eyes it was a far different scene that unfolded in my mind, over and over again. I could see the extension of my fingertips waivering in mid air against an unknown and a silohuette beyond that I could not reach. Reach ... reach ... that one thought kept coming back to me amidst the jungles in my mind but never seemd to gel. There was something tangible there that I could not curl my fingers around, couldn't close my thoughts around. Then for the spanse of just one iota of time I could see the tips of my fingers from the other side.