Get Inspired

It’s your call, baby!

2,906 words

Week 8

Your breasts feel tender. Premenstrual, you think. But the blood never comes. You count back to your last period. Oh fuck. With a building sense of dread you head to Tesco while Aidan sits in the living room watching football. He barely notices you leave or return. Then into the bathroom, pee on a stick and wait, your heart pounding. Two blue lines. You must have made a noise because Aidan finds you crying on the bathroom floor. “Are you hurt? Tell me, Jen!” Then he sees the test, abandoned by the loo. A tentative smile creeps over his face. “I’m gonna be a dad?” He hugs you close, next to the bleach and Viakal, and for a moment you think you can do this, together. “I’ll support you,” Aidan says.

Go to week 10

Week 10

You’re not ready. You recently moved into Aidan’s one-bed flat, and there’s no space for a baby. And your job has only just become something like a career. 

But will you ever be ready? You’re 32, not exactly a teenage mum. And you do want kids one day. What if this is your only chance?

Aidan thinks you should keep the baby, but you wish he’d help more. One evening after work, you’re feeling nauseous and can’t face cooking. 

He comes through the front door and finds you on the sofa. “What’s for dinner?” he asks, after giving you a kiss.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “I feel too sick to think about it.”

“It’s your job, though,” he says in a patronising tone you don’t recognise. “Don’t think anything’s going to change around here, just because you’re pregnant.” 

You give him an incredulous look, unsure if he’s joking. Then he storms back out of the door, and returns twenty minutes later with a burger and chips. The smell makes you want to puke.

“I didn’t get you any because you’re so sick,” he says, eating straight out of the bag.

It’s as if you’ve stepped into a parallel dimension. Aidan can be lazy, but you had no idea he could act like this. “What will you do when the baby comes?” you ask, your voice wobbling. “I’ll need help.”

“I work my arse off. I provide,” he says.

You dash to the toilet and throw up. This isn’t him, you tell yourself. He’s stressed. But the next day you start looking into abortion services. 

Do you: 

get an abortion? Go to week 13

keep the baby? Go to week 40

Week 13

You lie on a gurney in a flimsy hospital gown, your teeth chattering as the medicine gets to work. You keep worrying about the risks involved with the procedure, which were carefully outlined by a nurse when you arrived. If you die, it’ll be your own fault. You should’ve been more careful.

But then, so should Aidan. He seems a bit down about your decision, but it’s hard to tell: he’s not saying much, despite your best efforts to talk about it.

“We’re ready to take you in now,” another nurse says, all jolly and smily. She can see you’re terrified, and squeezes your hand. “Don’t worry, love. This is definitely easier than giving birth.”

Then another room, surgeons in masks, bright lights, a countdown…

You wake, disorientated. “Is it...gone?” you ask, and someone says yes. 

When you walk into the waiting room, Aidan stands up. He gives you a questioning look and you nod. “Oh. I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it,” he says.

On the journey home, you feel lighter. The shouts of kids, which gave you the fear a few hours ago, no longer have the same power.

That evening, as you bleed into an extra-thick pad, Aidan cooks dinner. 

“At least we know you can get pregnant,” he says while you eat. “Maybe in a couple of years.”

You’re not sure you ever want a baby with him; you still feel weird after his outburst. Maybe you should make a clean break of it. But then it’d be back to renting a room in a shared house, a prospect that makes you shudder.

Do you:

leave Aidan? Go to week 14

stay together? Go to year 35

Week 14

“I can’t do this any more,” you say, putting your glass of wine on the scarred pub table. 

Aidan glances up from his phone. “Do what?”

“This...relationship.” You fight to be heard above the music, the chatter, the clash of cutlery on plates.

“Why?” He looks genuinely puzzled, which makes you want to scream. Doesn’t he realise you’ve been doing everything around the house, as well as working, and constantly torturing yourself about your decision? He won’t even acknowledge what happened. Every time you mention it, Aidan clams up.

“Well, it’s not exactly equal, is it?” you say.

“Oh, you want me to do more washing up, is that it? You’re always keeping score.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s not a reason. It’s not like I cheated on you or anything.”

Oh God, maybe he’s right. He’s not that bad, is he? All men are a bit lazy, aren’t they? 

“You’re not going to find anyone better,” he says, taking a swig of his pint.

You glance at his nascent beer belly and your resolve hardens. You stand up, leaving half a glass of wine on the table. “I’m going home to pack a bag. Don’t follow me.” You don’t know where you find the strength but you manage to fling some clothes into a rucksack and take the tube to a friend’s place. 

Go to year 45

Week 40

“A beautiful, healthy baby boy,” someone says, and hands you a screaming bundle.

You try to look into your son’s eyes, but they’re squeezed shut. His mouth, however, is wide open; you feel like you could fall into it and disappear.

Then they rush you into surgery to take out the placenta and stitch you up.

In the maternity ward there’s a constant hum of activity. You’re sharing a room with three others, whom you gather had caesareans. The dividing curtains don’t provide much privacy.

“I’m going home,” Aidan announces. “My back’s killing me from lying on the floor last night.”

“You’re in pain, are you?” you ask, acutely aware of your stitches, the catheter inside you and the inflatable boots that constrict your legs. 

He nods, the sarcasm seemingly lost on him. “That was much harder on me than on you. You were off your face.”

As soon as he’s gone a breastfeeding consultant appears. She waits, watches. You’ve gathered that you have to show you can do this to be allowed home.

“He won’t latch,” you say. “Maybe he’s got a tongue tie?” Thank God for those breastfeeding classes; at least you feel prepared.

“There’s nothing wrong with that baby,” she barks, and walks away. Your son howls.

“That one’s always crying,” another mum says, beyond the curtain. Earlier, she was talking about how her new daughter can’t get enough of the boob. “I wish it’d shut up.”

Do you:

keep breastfeeding? Go to week 42

switch to formula? Go to week 41

Week 41

“What are we going to call him?” you ask, jiggling the baby in your arms during a rare moment of peace. “I quite like Michael.”

Aidan makes a face. “What, like Michael Jackson?”

“You suggest something, then.” You can’t believe the two of you haven’t agreed on a name yet. Before, you naively thought it would just come to you once you saw your baby’s face. But then, you were naive about a lot of things.

“What about Henry? Or George?” Aidan asks.

“Bit royal, aren’t they?”

“Better than bloody Michael.”

You sigh and the baby starts to stir, then whimper. For fuck’s sake. You thought you had at least half an hour before he woke.

“He wants feeding,” Aidan says, nodding at his son.

You push the bundle into Aidan’s arms and go into the kitchen to prepare some formula. You still haven’t got the hang of the quantities and usually either make too much, which seems like a shocking waste, or too little, which can be disastrous if your son’s in a hungry mood.

Aidan follows you with the baby, whose whimpers have become full-blown cries.

“You could do this, you know,” you snap as the kettle boils. “Or some of the night feeds.”

Aidan shrugs. “But I’m back to work next week.”

“So?”

“So I’ll need my sleep, won’t I? You can get up in the night, it’s not like you’re doing anything else all day.”

Later, you actually get the baby to lie down and sleep in his Moses basket. Five minutes later, Aidan snuggles up to you on the sofa. Without warning, he puts a hand on your breast, which still aches from undrunk milk.

You pull away. “Not now.”

His face goes sulky. “It’s been months.”

“I gave birth a week ago!” Your shout wakes the baby, who starts to cry.

“Can’t you just suck me off?”

With a groan of frustration, you take your son to your room, where he sleeps in a special pod that connects to your bed. You don’t see Aidan until the morning; he spent all night on the sofa.

You know you should leave – but how will you cope on your own with a baby?

Do you:

leave Aidan? Go to week 51

stay together? Go to year 40

Week 42

Your nipples are cracked and sore. You have a constant low-level headache; you feel woozy from lack of sleep. And your son, who still doesn’t have a name, spends all day crying.

The day Aidan goes back to work, you watch him leave with tears in your eyes, and then bawl into a pillow. 

No matter how long you keep the baby latched to your breast, he doesn’t seem satisfied. Feed, then pump, the health visitor told you; that will help stimulate your milk supply. But that leaves you with barely enough time to go for a wee, let alone make yourself a cup of tea or something to eat.

Forget baby yoga, or going for a walk outside during the few hours of sunlight. You knew this was going to be hard, but you thought it might also be rewarding, or fulfilling, or one of those other words people use to describe motherhood. The tears bubble up again.

Towards the end of the afternoon, when you can’t bear your son’s wailing any longer, you leave him thrashing on the living room floor and head to the kitchen. You get the huge tin out from where you hid it last week: emergency formula. 

You feel like the worst mum in the world as you spoon it into the bottle. But once the baby’s guzzled it down, he goes to sleep in his Moses basket.

Halle-fucking-lujah! You put on an episode of Line of Duty, but can barely keep your eyes open.

Aidan finds you asleep on the sofa when he gets home. “This place is a mess. Where’s dinner?”

You open your eyes, back in the nightmare that is your life. 

You know you should leave – but how will you cope on your own with a baby?

Do you:

leave Aidan? Go to week 51

stay together? Go to year 40

Week 51

You’re so exhausted you often don’t know what time it is. It always seems to be dark. You feel like you do nothing but feed, burp and change your son, whose name is now Michael.

You sometimes wonder if you’ll ever find your way back to the real you.

But at least you have your mum. Yes, you might be sleeping in your teenage bedroom again, but now there’s someone to help out with nappy changes, and cook meals, and make endless cups of tea, and take your son for a couple of hours while you catch up on sleep.

Being a single mum is hard. But it’s easier than parenting with Aidan.

You feel bad that Michael doesn’t see his dad. But Aidan knows where you are, and so far he hasn’t come over.

“Daddy’s sulking, isn’t he?” you say to Michael in that sing-song voice that’s seemed, somehow, to have become your permanent tone. 

Michael smiles back, all gums.

Go to year 42

Year 35

You pee on a stick; see those familiar blue lines. But this time you’re happier about it – aren’t you?

Aidan was better after the abortion. He took out the bins, cooked some dinners, planned a couple of holidays. But that only lasted a little while. Now things are back to the way they were. God knows how you’re going to cope with a baby on top of everything else. 

But you’re not getting any younger. And you’re both earning a lot more now. The two of you have actually managed to buy a house, something that always seemed an impossible dream.

It’s not like your friends are living in some kind of fairytale, either. Lydia’s husband is forever away on business, leaving her to look after their two kids, both aged under three. And Saskia’s partner cheated on her and left six months after she gave birth.

Perhaps Aidan isn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. And if you break up with him now, you run the risk of never finding a decent man to have kids with.

Still, you always wonder what you might have been doing now, if you’d had the courage to leave three years ago.

Go to year 40

Year 40

“Guys, come on, we’re going to be late,” you shout, as you jump out of the cab and grab the suitcases from the boot.

You take Henry’s hand and Aidan takes Oscar’s as you zoom through the airport to the luggage drop-off point.

“Where’s Tiger?” Oscar moans as you reach the snaking queue.

You look through Oscar’s bag for his favourite toy, then glare at Aidan. He shrugs. “I thought you were in charge of packing.”

“It’s not just down to me, you know.” Oscar starts to cry, so you rummage around for a snack. When Henry sees that Oscar’s getting something, he starts crying too.

“Are they going to be like this all holiday?” Aidan asks.

Go to year 80

Year 42

“So grown up,” you say to Michael as he blows out 10 candles on his birthday cake. 

Greg, your boyfriend, puts one hand on your back and ruffles Michael’s hair with the other. “Give me an extra-large slice, please, champ.”

You look at your lovely house, lovely boyfriend, and lovely son. You’ve made it – with a lot of help from family and friends. 

Sometimes you wonder what your life would’ve been like if you hadn’t had Michael. It certainly feels like you’ve missed out on a lot, especially during the early years. While your friends were having their blowout holidays and partying till dawn at Glastonbury, you were looking after a baby.

But now Michael’s older, you can start living your life again. You’ve always wanted to go to Mexico. Or maybe you’ll finally join that running club. It’s never too late, is it?

Go to year 80

Year 45

You never did find someone to have kids with. But that’s okay. You have a good job and great friends, and you surprise yourself by joining a running club. And unlike your mates with kids, you can go on holiday whenever you like. 

Every now and then, though, there is the smallest sliver of regret for the baby you never had. He would’ve been a teenager by now. You always think of him as a boy for some reason. You’ve even given him a name: Mikey. 

In those moments when you’re lying in bed awake, the weight of the universe pressing down, you wish things could’ve been different. “Sorry,” you whisper, the words swallowed up by the night.

One thing you don’t regret is leaving Aidan. You heard he married a twenty-something woman a couple of years after your breakup, and they quickly had two kids; they’re still together as far as you know.

Go to year 80

Year 80

No one’s come to the hospital today. You didn’t expect them to. Most of your family and friends – the ones who are left – are probably too busy.

You’ve started to wish it was over. Lying here day after day, punctured like a pin cushion and covered in bedsores, is no way to live.

It’d just be nice if someone could take you outside one last time, so you could feel the sun on your skin, or a delicious sea breeze. All those things you used to take for granted. You keep asking the nurses, who smile and say: “That’s a lovely idea.” But it never happens.

You can no longer read so you have too much time to think; time you spend agonising about the decisions you made, all those years ago. Were they the right choices? Lying here, listening to the beep of machines and the shouts of other patients, it feels like they weren’t. If you’d done it right, wouldn’t someone be here with you?

You close your eyes. No point worrying about that now. You did what you thought was best at the time.

That’s the way the nurse finds you later: eyes closed, an enigmatic smile on your face. “She looks so peaceful,” she says.

The Purple Dress

I entered my mother’s bedroom 

like crossing into the night. 

It was July and the forbidden 

plum dress shimmered 

in her dark closet, heat haze 

rising off tarmac. I unfastened 

hooks from delicate eyelets 

and tried it on, no longer myself 

in the mirror. I never saw my mother 

in that dress. Too deep, she said. 

Not a colour that could disguise

pain— the colour of bruises 

and cassocks. So much can fit 

into a garment: the afternoon 

when my mother ran to her father, 

purple-faced in the clutch 

of his final heart-attack. 

The cigarette fug in the air. 

It was her fourteenth birthday. 

Blueberry trifle still stains her dress.

THE HORSEWOMAN In a test of faith, an isolated Horsewoman receives three offers that she finds increasingly hard to turn down.(CONTINUED) EXT. DARK FOREST - DAY A dense ocean of tree tops poke above the mist seeping from the forest floor. This ocean goes on for as far as the eye can see, silhouetted against the deep red sky of dawn. EXT. DARK FOREST - DAY Water trickles through tree roots in a shallow, wide stream. Small, silvery fish skitter in the current. On the stream’s bank, a black HORSE lazily dips its head to drink. A CRACK echoes through the wood, and the horse stares in the direction of the obtrusion. On the opposite side of the stream from the depths of the forest comes the HORSEWOMAN (50s). Adorned in autumnal cloak, tunic, and leggings, you wouldn’t notice her until it was too late. Bindle style, she hauls a dead muntjac and two rabbits. Propping them against a tree, she crouches by the stream, grimacing as she rubs a crick in her back. HORSEWOMAN Easy, Cob. Only me. COB lowers his head as the Horsewoman playfully splashes him. She joins Cob in dipping her face in the stream to take a greedy slurp of water before pulling away. Quiet returns to the forest as the stream bubbles on. MATCH CUT TO: EXT. DARK FOREST - NIGHT The stream continues to bubble away. The light of a fire reflects off it’s surface. Nearby, the HORSEWOMAN sits turning a spit as she roasts the muntjac, its fat dripping into the crackling flames. COB stands nearby munching away at something in his feedbag. EXT. DARK FOREST - NIGHT - LATER COB lies down to rest as the HORSEWOMAN tucks into her cooked meal. There’s no decorum as she bites into the dripping meat. (CONTINUED)CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 2. Cob gives her a look of affection and embarrassment as she attempts to cough through a mouthful of food. HORSEWOMAN Pardon. ‘With Muntjac deer, there’s spirits near’, ‘ey, Cob? Opposite the fire a FOX emerges from the shadowy trees. The light bounces off its black eyes as it licks its lips and eyes up the deer carcass. The Horsewoman tears off one of the legs and throws it to the edge of the fire. HORSEWOMAN Come here then, scoundrel. The fox pads over to the camp and lies down to consume the treat. Cob slumbers and the fire continues to crackle as woman and beast eat in companionable silence. EXT. DARK FOREST - DAY COB plods along the dry forest floor. The HORSEWOMAN sits casually atop his back, chewing a root from her right hand as she cradles the reins in the other. Her saddle holds all her belongings: laden cloth sacks; a skinful of water; a feedbag; scabbard; a knight’s helm. The Horsewoman pulls tight on the reins and brings Cob to a stop - both listen with keen ears. Silence. In a burst of color, the FOX runs out from the bushes and streaks past them in the direction from which they came. HORSEWOMAN About, Cob! Cob swiftly turns and gallops after the fox. The Horsewoman discards the root and unsheathes her sword: a look of serious determination covers her features. Out of nowhere, an elderly man with lively blue eyes appears leaning against a large rock. This is the MERCHANT (70s), contentedly smoking his pipe. Propped nearby he has a barrow piled high with colored fabrics. The fox slips away into the trees as the Horsewoman wheels to a stop, brandishing her sword as the Merchant puffs away at his pipe. CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 2.CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 3. MERCHANT How do. HORSEWOMAN What’s your business here? The Merchant taps ash from his pipe and hobbles to his barrow to retrieve a cloak. MERCHANT I’m a merchant looking for trade. HORSEWOMAN You’ll find none here. Turn about and head to the towns - two days walk will bring you there. MERCHANT Nowt for me back there. Sensing there’s no threat, the Horsewoman puts her sword away and hops off Cob’s back, looking at the barrow. MERCHANT The finest cloaks you ever did see. Feel ‘em - warm in the cold, and cool in the sun. This’ll last you all seasons. He holds a purple cloak out to her. Soft, exquisite. Her beguilement is clear as the wind picks up and a shiver runs through her spine. The Merchant watches her fascination closely. HORSEWOMAN How much? MERCHANT Passage through the wood, and nothing more. Retracting her hand, the Horsewoman’s interest fades. HORSEWOMAN I cannot allow it. No one goes further than this. Not even I. MERCHANT Surely you’d let an old man pass through? I’ll offer another cloak for that fine beast to make it worth your while? CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 3.CONTINUED: (2) (CONTINUED) 4. HORSEWOMAN (not unkindly) I assure you, no one ventures further than this. She pats the scabbard and helm on Cob’s saddle. HORSEWOMAN That’s what these are for. I keep the border safe. The Merchant raises his brow in a cheeky, challenging glance. MERCHANT How do you know I won’t just walk further along and slip past you? The Horsewoman matches his tone and look with humility. HORSEWOMAN How do you know I won’t trail you and slit your throat? Admitting defeat, the Merchant holds up his hands and hobbles over to collect the barrow. MERCHANT A woman of her word, I see! So be it. HORSEWOMAN Safe travels for the way you came, friend. The Merchant waves in dismissal as he carts the squeaking barrow back through the trees. The fox re-emerges and scampers past the Horsewoman. Glancing into the thick forest after the Merchant, the Horsewoman turns to find no trace of him. EXT. DARK FOREST - NIGHT Clutching her sword, the HORSEWOMAN sits shivering in a creaky, hastily thrown together lean-to, her fire extinguished in the torrential rain. Her only good cloak has been draped over COB who stands trying to shelter under a nearby tree. CONTINUED: (2) (CONTINUED) 4.CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 5. HORSEWOMAN It’ll be over soon, Cob! It can’t last much longer. It can’t! Thunder echoes across the sky as a fork of lightning strikes nearby in the forest. In the brief magnificent light, moving FIGURES are illuminated amongst the trees. The Horsewoman stands abruptly and brandishes her sword, knocking over her shelter in the process. HORSEWOMAN Who goes there?! Show yourself! out! Lightning strikes closer and the figures scatter into the wood. The FOX darts from a burrow and follows after them. A loud CRACK of thunder accompanies a bolt of forked lightning that strikes a tree directly in front of the Horsewoman - the tree sets alight in a slash of flame. Cob SCREAMS and bolts as the Horsewoman is thrown to the ground by the ferocity of the lightning. The sounds of Cob’s pounding hooves disappear into the forest as the Horsewoman scrambles to her feet and takes chase in vain. HORSEWOMAN COB! YAH! COB, BACK COB! Rain and panic cloud her vision as she races through the trees, but there’s no sign of Cob. The fox CRIES from behind her - distracted and disorientated, the Horsewoman runs and trips over a root. As she falls to the ground, she CRACKS her head on a rounded stone. The rain begins to lessen as she lies motionless. EXT. DARK FOREST - DAY The shallow stream has burst it’s banks and runs in torrents across the floor. A fat TOAD sits as a bead of water plops onto his head. With a CROAK it wipes its beady eyes. He hops away as a large stick lands near him in the stream with a SPLASH. The stick comes from the direction of the HORSEWOMAN a few yards from the stream. CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 5.CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 6. Sporting red, puffy eyes and sunken, sallow cheeks, the Horsewoman tries in vain to strike up a fire, but the wood is too damp. With a cry she throws her last bit of kindling with great force and hears it hit against a soft object. OSTLER (O.S.) Umph! The Horsewoman raises her sword in the direction of the sound as a blue-eyed OSTLER (40s) emerges from the trees with a black COLT in tow. She eyes him suspiciously as she assumes a fighting stance. Clinging to the Colt’s rope, the Ostler pales and puts his hands in the air. OSTLER Please, take the colt! It’s all I have! HORSEWOMAN I am no thief. Tell me what business you have walking this wood. OSTLER My master wants this young ‘un sold. I can’t find anyone that wants him. Are you in need of a horse? The Horsewoman swings her sword through the air and slashes the rope holding the colt from the Ostler’s hand. She pivots and pins the startled Ostler to a tree as the frightened colt SQUALLS. HORSEWOMAN Tell me how it is that the very morning after my horse bolts you pass through this wood with a colt? OSTLER I don’t know what HORSEWOMAN Setting out in a storm?! You’re a fool or a blaggard! CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 6.CONTINUED: (2) (CONTINUED) 7. OSTLER What storm? HORSEWOMAN No one passes this close to the border! Let alone with an animal in tow. OSTLER I work at my Master’s bidding - I didn’t know this was your border! The Horsewoman frees him but looks on with disdain as she grabs the colt’s reins and hands them back to the Ostler. HORSEWOMAN It’s not mine. The border is ancient! Everyone know’s of it. Now turn back from whence you came. A scheming look passes the Ostler’s face. OSTLER Well, if you find yourself without a horse, why not take this one? The Horsewoman shakes her head and trudges away as the Ostler jogs along to keep up with her. OSTLER With your border to patrol it seems like you could use it! It’ll be a fair price, I can assure you! HORSEWOMAN I have no coin. OSTLER Tell you what, I’ll settle for passage through the wood and some trappings The Horsewoman turns on him with her previous ferocity and stops him dead in his tracks. HORSEWOMAN I could kill you where you stand and take your colt if I so pleased. OSTLER (quivering) Oh? Noticing how timorous the Ostler is, the Horsewoman deflates and turns back to trudge through the forest. CONTINUED: (2) (CONTINUED) 7.CONTINUED: (3) (CONTINUED) 8. HORSEWOMAN My horse shall return. (beat) Back from whence you came, and don’t stop until you’re at the towns. The Horsewoman resumes her cantankerous trudging, and the Ostler smirks as he watches a fox trail after her. EXT. DARK FOREST - NIGHT The FOX nibbles away at the HORSEWOMAN’s boot. She sits against a tree, her sunken eyes closed, a clump of mushrooms in her hand. The wrinkles on her face more pronounced: she looks old. The fox sniffs it’s way up to her face and licks her cheek. The Horsewoman’s bleary eyes fly open as she bats the creature away. The fox scarpers as the Horsewoman slumps and WRETCHES as bile froths from her mouth. She wipes her damp sleeve across her mouth and closes her eyes in defeat. HORSEWOMAN What do you want? Over her shoulders emerges a YOUNG MAN (20s). He’s dressed all in black and wears a silver band around his forehead. His ghostly blue eyes are sharp but kind. HORSEWOMAN Are you real? YOUNG MAN What a question to ask! A beat as the Horsewoman sits herself up and faces the Young Man, blinking her sore eyes to get a better look at him. YOUNG MAN I’ve come for the Horsewoman. With a pathetic wave she gestures towards herself and the mushrooms tumble from her hand. The Young Man gives a concerned sigh. He kneels in front of her and gently offers her his skin of water which she gingerly accepts. CONTINUED: (3) (CONTINUED) 8.CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 9. YOUNG MAN How long have you been here? HORSEWOMAN I lost my horse. He bolted in the storm and I’m tracking him. YOUNG MAN How many days since? HORSEWOMAN Four? Five? A beat as the Young Man looks at her with pity - her clothes are torn and muddied, her hair wild. YOUNG MAN I think it’s been a while longer... The Young Man shakes his head dejectedly and reaches into his cloak to retrieve a red vial as he nods towards the mushrooms. YOUNG MAN This will ease the fire in your belly and head. The Horsewoman smiles weakly as she turns her face away from him. HORSEWOMAN It’s too late for that. Besides, I have nothing to exchange. Everything I owned was on Cob. He presses the vial into her hand. YOUNG MAN A gift. The shadow of a smile crosses the Horsewoman’s lips as she shakes her head weakly. HORSEWOMAN There’s only one thing you get for free: nothing. She laughs harshly and then coughs up more bile. An awkward silence descends upon the pair. YOUNG MAN Why are you here? CONTINUED: (CONTINUED) 9.CONTINUED: (2) (CONTINUED) 10. HORSEWOMAN To guard the forest. No one can go beyond the border. YOUNG MAN Why? The Horsewoman looks at him in confusion. The FOX appears beside the Young Man and sits patiently. HORSEWOMAN I... I don’t know. YOUNG MAN And when can your watch end? HORSEWOMAN I don’t... YOUNG MAN What’s keeping you here? Realizing that she doesn’t have any answers, the Horsewoman stares straight ahead with a lost expression. YOUNG MAN What’s your name? Can you tell me that, at least? The Horsewoman’s eyes glaze over as she shakes her head dejectedly. YOUNG MAN You’ve been here a long time. Yes. HORSEWOMAN Yes. YOUNG MAN You rejected a cloak to keep you warm and dry. You declined a beast to carry your goods and keep company with. HORSEWOMAN How did you-? YOUNG MAN And now you refuse my medicine. Why? A genuine smile settles on the Horsewoman’s face. HORSEWOMAN I’m guarding the border. I have no other purpose than this. CONTINUED: (2) (CONTINUED) 10.CONTINUED: (3) 11. The Young Man smiles, relief settling over his face as he extends his hand. The Horsewoman passes the vial back, but now it shines a bright blue. He hands it to the waiting fox who gently holds the vial in his muzzle and trots into the forest. The Young Man stands and helps the Horsewoman onto her unsteady feet. YOUNG MAN It’s time you crossed over. The Young Man whistles, and from the distant shadows beyond the border COB trots forward. Too weak to express her elation, the Horsewoman nuzzles Cob as she buries her face in his mane. The Young Man helps her atop Cob, and she lies against his back. YOUNG MAN Cob will show you the way. Close your eyes and rest. (beat) Your watch has ended. Cob turns and walks towards the shadows of the forest where the fox waits for them. The Horsewoman weakly raises her hand in salute, disappearing into the woods. A muntjac peeks out from behind a tree and bounds after the Young Man as he turns to leave. FADE TO BLACK.

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