The Pegasus Potential

By Pamela Love

On the day twelve-year-old Sophie Furrow learns that she may never walk again, she discovers that her seemingly ordinary farm horse, Rooster, just might be able to fly! Together, they face a powerful snob, a life-threatening secret, and a high-altitude stampede before Sophie's dreams take wing in a way no one ever expected.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pamela Love
• Release date: Aug 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311258687

Book preview

Chapter 1

Pears and Potential

Too dangerous, Ma said. Not worth chancing it without a ladder. Pear picking will have to wait. She sipped water barely flavored with tea to help the unbuttered bread slip down her throat. I’d finished my breakfast already.

Climbing our pear tree would be dangerous. Three branches had fallen last spring, and another the winter before. On windy days it creaked enough to startle a sparrow into flight. Even thinking about setting foot in that old tree was foolish.

But those brittle branches grew the sweetest pears you can imagine, the kind you almost taste in dreams right before the rooster crows. One pear from our tree is worth a basketful of common ones. Picked and sold in time, they might save our farm.

Pushing the sun-faded curtain out of the way, I pointed to birds pecking at the tree’s fruit. Tomorrow the pegasus wagon comes by. The wagon folk will pay the best price for our pears to give the yearlings with flying potential a treat, I reminded Ma.

I used to look forward all year to watching the colts and fillies hitched behind the pegasus wagon. No matter how hard I stared, I couldn’t see any difference between them and the ordinary horses I saw every day. It’s not as if any of them had wings.

Yet somehow, the Pegasus Patrol could spot the ones with flying magic. Soon those special yearlings would join the Patrol themselves, galloping high over rooftops, carrying riders who watched for fires, hunted down outlaws, brought urgent messages from the capital, and helped keep the peace between our kingdom of Tangent and the others nearby.

Times had changed. Instead of wondering how they could fly without wings, now I was figuring how many pears they’d eat. We needed every penny so much.

Ma, those pears could be our last chance. If you don’t pay off another part of the debt soon, Mr. Coyne will take the whole farm. You’ve got nothing else to give him.

Your pa would tell you to wait. Ma’s apron pocket crackled as she touched his last letter from far-off Cornwell Farm. Until the next one came, it would stay there.

Pa knows we need the money. He’s not earning much as a hired man.

Ma patted my hand. Don’t fret, Sophie. Just wait—

Thump, thump. Mrs. Furrow! Mrs. Furrow! Trudy needs a midwife now!

Oliver Fields is Trudy’s husband. Ma ran to open the door before the father-to-be accidentally knocked it down. Take care of the chores, Sophie. I’ll be home by nightfall, most likely. Grabbing her basket of birthing supplies, she trotted outside.

Chores were fewer these days. Almost all the livestock had gone to Mr. Coyne to start repaying the debt. Our ladder, too, or I would’ve picked the pears already. After washing the dishes, I headed for the garden.

Hours passed as I dug up turnips. Knotting the sack that held the last, I looked over my shoulder at sunlight flickering though the pear tree. These days, I’m so skinny the grass hardly bends under my feet. I won’t let birds gobble up our future, no matter what Ma says! I swallowed hard. Even if she says I can’t go to the Harvest Festival.

Every year, farmers crowd into the village hall for feasting and hours of dancing. Nothing’s more fun than skipping and twirling light-footed to fiddles and drums. During the winter I’d practice my steps in the barn when the only music was wind whistling through cracks in the door.

But saving the farm’s more important, I told myself as I stacked baskets onto a chair. As I carried them out to the pear tree, I remembered how Grandma (who’d woven the baskets) and Grandpa (who’d built the chair) used to boost me up when I was little. On tiptoe on the chair seat, I could just swing my leg up to the lowest branch. It didn’t even creak. Breathing more easily, I kept climbing, a basket hanging from my shoulder. Once I’d picked the highest pears, my work could only get safer.

That’s why I was practically at the top of the tree when I spotted Mr. Coyne stealing my horse.

In stories, horses rear and paw the air if a thief takes their reins. Not Rooster. He plodded calmly behind Coyne, like he did for anyone leading him. If he hadn’t neighed when he caught my scent, Coyne might’ve gotten away.

My head swung around so fast my braids slapped off leaves. No! Stop, thief! Words wouldn’t be enough. How could I—oh!

Jerking a pear from its stem, I threw it so hard my shoulder hurt. Coyne caught it one-handed without flinching. Taking a bite, he smiled and waved. I wanted to spit. Here I was risking my neck for pears too valuable for me to eat and that thief dared act like I’d given him a gift?

Horse thief! Horse thief! Oh, wait until I got down. Scrambling back through the branches, I opened my mouth to say worse, but never did.

Sharp and sudden, a branch split off under me. With a gasp, I fell, pears like hail around me. Just before everything went dark, a strange voice shouted, Stop!

A threat woke me up. If she’s hurt, I’ll throw you off the Pegasus Patrol myself, Cadet Post.

Another voice was crooning, So sorry, so sorry...are you all right? Come on, let me see that leg. Why, she doesn’t look hurt at all from her stumble. What do you think, Major Steed?

My howls of pain and rage drowned out whatever the major thought. What did he mean, I didn’t look hurt? What did he mean, my stumble?

Quiet, girl! Major Steed bellowed. You’ll fret the pegasus.

The pegasus? My eyes opened. Blurrily, I saw two men in red jackets with gold trim crouching beside Rooster. Pegasus Patrollers were looking at Rooster? But Rooster wasn’t a she, or a pegasus.

Blinking cleared away some tears. Not Rooster, but a mare with a blaze and white hoof like his. Oh. The mare wasn’t hurt.

Ma’s face moved in front of mine. Sophie, how many fingers do you see? Tears were in her voice and on her cheeks.

Three. Oh Ma, my feet hurt—

For some reason, she smiled. At least you can feel them. Try to wiggle your toes. Ma was bent over my legs, looking them over closely, but not touching them.

For the second time that day, I disobeyed her. Instead of moving my toes, I pushed myself onto my elbows and looked at my feet myself.

Quiet down, I said!

Choking off the moan, I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut. I willed everything to be a nightmare, willed myself to wake up two years before the fever took Grandpa, back when Pa worked on our farm, instead of some stranger’s far away, back when nobody tried to steal my horse.

Maybe I could’ve believed it, if everyone had kept quiet. I wanted it enough.

Look what you did to my daughter, Coyne. How could you? Ma wasn’t crying anymore. Her voice cut like a plow blade.

Never touched the girl. That branch broke under her.

Coyne! Ma, he’s stealing Rooster. Where was my horse? I pushed back the pain enough to open my eyes. Coyne’s hand was still on Rooster’s reins, but Mr. Fields was holding them, too. Why was he here? How long had I been blacked out?

Ma’s eyes were blazing. Victor Coyne, you horse thief! Shame!

I told you I heard someone shout ‘horse thief,’ the cadet told the major. That explained why they were here. The Pegasus Patrol takes horse theft very seriously.

Coyne rolled his eyes. Just a woman wailing nonsense, sir. I’ve wasted too much time here as it is. Tell this farmer to let go of the reins. I’m a busy man.

He’s mine. Rooster’s mine. Oh, it hurts. My feet and losing Rooster both. I twisted, trying to stretch my hand out far enough to help hang onto him.

Keep quiet, girl, you’ve caused enough trouble. Sir, my name is Victor Coyne. This family is in debt to me. This horse is partial repayment. It’s perfectly lawful.

Ma stood up. "This horse was never part of the bargain, Coyne, and you know it. You’ve taken our cows and every last chicken. You’ve taken nearly all our crops, leaving us scarcely enough to feed ourselves with. You’ve even taken the ladder we use to pick pears, which is why Sophie was risking her life in the tree. That pin I saw on your lady-love last week was in my family for three generations. She told me it was your mother’s. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her you lied. No one in my family has ever said a word against you, for we do owe the money.

"But Rooster is different. My husband and I are in debt to you, but Sophie is not. And Rooster belongs to her."

Not her debt? Coyne snapped. She lives here. Of course it’s her debt.

Rooster’s—my—horse, I bit out the words, making a cage of my teeth to keep the sobs inside my head.

Ma turned to the Patrollers. Sirs, my daughter is badly hurt. Can’t you help her, please? You must have some supplies.

Yes, yes. The cadet stood and began fumbling through his mare’s saddlebag.

"And just how will she feed her horse if I take your farm?" Coyne asked.

Before Ma could answer, the cadet yelped, Wait! Wait! Stop, Mr. Coyne. That’s not your horse.

Major Steed rolled his eyes. Cadet Post, this is clearly a matter for the local judge. We’ve wasted too much time on this nonsense already. Deciding who owns that horse could take days.

But sir! The Pegasus Patrol does! From the saddlebag, Post pulled a thin wand. It glowed bright red, with gold flickering around the edges. In case you don’t know, Mr. Coyne, this pointer only lights up near a pegasus which hasn’t yet flown. It’s how we find them.

Rooster, a pegasus? I’d ridden him, driven him, and plowed with him. He came when I called and did what I said. Everyone with a horse dreams it has pegasus potential, but I’d never seriously thought of my Rooster that way.

My surprise turned to fear. By law, only the Patrol may own a pegasus. He wasn’t my Rooster anymore.

Now Cadet Post also took Rooster’s reins. He stood almost as tall as Mr. Fields, even though he looked just a few years older than I am. Both of them looked down at Mr. Coyne.

How is this possible? Coyne barked. Wasn’t he checked as a yearling? That’s the law. He glared at us as if we’d been plotting to keep a pegasus, which is almost the only crime worse than horse theft.

Major Steed snorted. Striding over on his own long legs, he pried open Rooster’s mouth. "David Post, your youth doesn’t excuse your ignorance. This beast is at least twelve years old by the state of his teeth, and just the way he’s