Storm and the Silver Bridle. Stacy Gregg

      Mrs Brown took one look at Issie’s face when she came through the front door and knew instantly that something was very wrong.

      “I get the feeling it didn’t go well at the pony club?” Mrs Brown asked.

      Issie shook her head. “No, Mum, it went fine…but Francoise was there. She’s in town. She’s come to see Nightstorm.”

      Mrs Brown was surprised at this. “Francoise’s in town? But I thought you hadn’t even heard from her? What does she want?”

      “She wants Nightstorm,” Issie said. “She’s offered to buy him. She’s coming to the farm tomorrow morning to meet with me and Tom. We told her that Nightstorm wasn’t for sale, but she said she had things to tell us…”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I don’t know,” Issie said, “but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

      Mrs Brown dropped the pile of laundry she had been sorting. “What on earth is Francoise playing at? First of all she doesn’t even answer your letters and then she just turns up and demands that you sell her your horse? What time is she coming tomorrow? I can’t wait to tell her myself that Storm isn’t for sale and give her a piece of my mind!”

      Issie shook her head. “It’s OK, Mum. I can handle it. It isn’t like that…” Issie couldn’t believe she was defending Francoise, but in spite of everything she was still convinced that the Frenchwoman was her friend. “Tom has already told her Storm isn’t for sale, we’re just going to talk about stuff.”

      “Are you sure?” Mrs Brown arched a sceptical eyebrow.

      “You don’t need me to come too? You can always call me on my mobile if you like and I can—”

      “Mum, really. I’ll be OK,” Issie managed a smile. “Tom will be there to back me up.”

      Mrs Brown didn’t look convinced, but she let the matter drop and didn’t bring it up again that evening.

      Issie went to bed that night feeling utterly drained after everything that had happened. Once she was actually in bed, though, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about Francoise’s strange comment. What did she mean when she said that she had so much more to tell them? Why was Nightstorm so important to El Caballo Danza Magnifico?

      Despite her worries, she eventually dozed off, but she’d only been asleep a little while when her subconscious took over and the nightmare began. In her sleep, she tossed and turned, and vivid images flashed through her head as she relived that fateful day at the pony club. The day that Mystic died.

      Mystic had been Issie’s very first horse. With his swayed back and a dapple-grey coat that had faded with age, he was hardly the best-looking horse in the paddock at Chevalier Point. That didn’t matter to Issie, though. She adored Mystic and thought he was the most beautiful horse ever. To her, Mystic would always be the horse that she had loved first, the one who had changed everything.

      In her nightmare, Issie was back at the pony club, and it was the day of the accident. It was all happening again, in heart-wrenching slow motion. She saw Goldrush, Toby and Coco break loose, then panic and bolt for the pony-club gates. And then, before she could think it through, she was following on Mystic, galloping after them, trying to head them off before they reached the deadly main highway.

      As they struck the road she heard the clean chime of Mystic’s horseshoes on the tarmac. The ponies were ahead of them—at any moment they might be hit by a speeding car! She rode Mystic forward, circling the three horses and driving them back up the gravel driveway to the club grounds, getting them clear of the traffic and out of harm’s way. Then suddenly Toby, Goldrush and Coco were gone and it was just Issie and Mystic all alone on the road. Issie could hear the low rumble of the truck, smell the diesel and hear the squeal of tyres as the massive vehicle tried to brake. Mystic turned to face the truck, like a stallion squaring up to his opponent, ready to fight. As he did so, he threw Issie back and out of the saddle. Issie felt herself falling. She knew what would happen next because she had been there before. She would be thrown clear of the truck, but Mystic, poor, brave Mystic, would face it head on. And he would die!

      “Mystic, no! NO!” Issie screamed. She was still falling, but the ground seemed a long way away. Falling, falling and then—she woke up. Issie sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing and her sheets soaked with sweat. She found herself gasping, trying to catch her breath, trying to fight back the tears, then giving up and crying again just like she had done that day when she’d woken up in the hospital bed and her mother told her that her pony was dead.

      Issie’s mum and everyone had tried to help her get over it, but how do you ever recover from losing your best friend? And so she’d sworn she would never ride again. The idea of loving another horse had just seemed impossible.

      Then Tom Avery had turned up with Blaze. He told Issie about how the International League for the Protection of Horses had found the mare half-starved and maltreated. Issie knew then that she had no choice but to take the mare on. She poured her heart into helping Blaze and, as the mare got better, Issie’s spirit recovered too.

      Still, Issie never let go of her love for Mystic. And it turned out that the grey pony never let go of her either.

      Issie had always known that her pony was special—but Mystic was much more special than anyone could have realised. He was like a guardian angel for Issie—and for Blaze. After the accident at the pony club, the grey gelding came back to Issie. He returned whenever she really needed him. Not as a ghost, but a real horse.

      Mystic had a sixth sense for danger. He had saved Issie’s life so many times now she had lost count.

      She had dreamt about Mystic before. Her dreams were often a portent of what was to come. As she sat there in bed, Issie became aware of just what the dream meant. There was big danger afoot—she could feel it. A dream like that? It meant Mystic must be here.

      Issie jumped out of her bed and raced to press her face up against the window. She peered out into the inky night, trying to see down to the garden below her room. It was raining outside, and large rivulets of water snaked down the pane of glass, blurring her view. There! Something was moving down on the lawn. It was hard to make the shape out clearly in the dark, but it was something big—Issie could see the shadow moving back and forth. Was it Mystic?

      Pulling on a sweatshirt over her pyjamas, Issie raced down the stairs and out of the back door into the garden.

      The rain was getting heavier now and the grass was squelchy and sodden under her feet.

      “Mystic!” she hissed under her breath as she peered into the darkness. “Mystic!” It was so frustrating having to be quiet, but she didn’t want to wake her mum.

      Issie stood still for a moment, listening carefully. At first, all she could hear was her own heart beating. She began to doubt herself. Perhaps she had simply been having a nightmare. Maybe it didn’t mean anything after