I leaned up against the door frame looking out onto the field, my morning cup of coffee steaming in the cool breeze blowing the seas’ scent up and over the cliffs. A disgruntled snort broke the morning’s stillness as Ruffian, my brother’s old gelding, moved along the pasture fence in search of grain that may have been missed at last night’s supper. In the next paddock over I can barley make out the dark shape of my horse, or rather my capaill uisce. He stands with his back to us, entirely focused on the cliffs and the sound of the sea below. The waves drive him mad. They always have.
I remember standing absolutely still, every thought had disappeared the moment I saw him illuminated by splintering lightning. The dark shape erupting from the water, and screaming with a sickening vengeance as he tore from the seas cold embrace was impossible to tear your eyes away from. Somewhere far out across the choppy waves thunder clapped announcing the capaill uisce 's arrival. My hands shook as I repositioned the rope in my grip; every tip and piece of advice on the art of capturing one of the demons fled my mind like the tide retreating along the beach. The stallion half reared and spun around smoothly leaping into a canter. He seemed to take flight along the sands, each stride swallowing the ground. I was memorized by the power and danger he seemed to glow with. Enthralled with the stallion, it took a moment for me to register his path. The stallion tossed his head and broke into a gallop right towards me. I took a few steps backwards almost loosing my footing on the wet sand and slick rocks. The stallion stopped and pawed the ground just feet from where I had been crouched before, keening softly in my direction. I could see him more clearly now as he regarded me, head low and mouth slightly open with teeth exposed. The stallion was beautiful blue roan with a few white splashes like foam on the stormy seas. A patch of white covered the right side of his face making his one blue eye all the more striking. I fumbled in my pockets trying to grab one of the many charms and bells I had stuffed them with, the purpose of each long forgotten. The stallion snorted again and reared, his hooves tearing at the air with a mad rage. This was my chance. I moved quickly, throwing the rope over the stallion's head and pulled it taunt. The capaill hardly noticed turning and starting off down the beach in search of better looking prey. I dug my feet into the ground and pulled the rope. Stopping in his tracks the horse turned to regard me again, his blue eye glinting in the moonlight. I remember gasping for breath, trying to plan my next move as the water horse’s attention was focused on me once again. Now I know that without Charlie, he would have killed me. Now I know that my brother’s rope and shouts had saved my life from my own youthful recklessness. That walk home was the hardest four hours of our life, we would later agree on that aspect of the night. The water horse had spent most of the trek back to our place dragging us towards the cliffs or back the way we came just for a chance to be near the sea again. Once we got him into a stall, away from the sounds of waves crashing, he seemed to calm down. “Don’t turn your back on him. Don’t trust him. Don’t get eaten. And don’t come to me for help.” Charlie had said to me, before leaving me alone with my new mount.
But now Caddoc seems almost familiar, as he stands in the pasture, almost as trustworthy as old Ruffian. I guess that is the allure of the capaill uisce; they are seem to be horses.
