THE SUN HAD SET SOME time ago on the moor, but there was still warmth in the air. Gerald sat on the porch smoking his black-lipped pipe. He could hear the trees relaxing their branches in preparation for the imminent night. The sweet breeze reminded Gerald of when he was a boy, growing up in these parts. Devon unfortunately had changed over the years and now in the final few seasons of his life, he spent his remaining time at his cottage in the moorlands.
Gerald lived alone. He never had any guests or callers at his door. His son Arthur was the only person who ever visited him and as Gerald’s health worsened in the last year, Arthur’s visits had become infrequent. He was a stubborn old man and when his son had approached him with papers to sell his home in Devon, Gerald spewed tobacco-stained saliva all over the first page.
“Let the damn thing rot! Devon proper is poison. The moor is the last place on Earth with any soul left in it.” He leaned in closer to his son. “You know my boy, the Dartmoor still walk this land.” Gerald nodded in agreement with his own words and eased back into his chair.
“Dad, will you stop talking nonsense about those bloody ponies!” His son was furious.
Gerald’s face flushed crimson and he yanked the pipe out from his lips, waving it in the air. “You’ll hold your tongue and speak with respect in my presence!”
Arthur recoiled. Even at his overripe age, Gerald could still instill fear in his son. The boy, now a man, rose from his father’s presence, shook his head and said nothing, making his way for home.
“Young fool,” Gerald muttered once his son was out of sight.
He re-lit his pipe and took three heavy pulls on the stem. A rich plume of grey smoke filled the air around him. He looked out on the moor. The evening moon was low and almost full; a soft eerie glow blanketed the land, however one could still see for quite a distance. Gerald watched in silence as the first of them appeared.
“Hello, old friend,” he whispered the words in his mind only.
The pony moved over the crest of the hill and into full view. The creature was a female. Her coat was black and shone like the surface of the lake beneath the moon’s delicate light. Her mane was long, unruly.
Gerald and the beast met gazes. They would do this each evening; stare at each other in silent understanding. They both weren’t long for this world and had an unspoken agreement. The others would eventually come. Gerald had been a part of this ritual for many years.
He reached into the inside pocket of his wool jacket and removed a bottle of pills. It was that time. He took out two light yellow pills and reached for his water, took a mouthful and threw his head back to swallow. He waited a few moments for his stomach to settle and then looked back out on the moor. The Dartmoors had gone. He got up, turned off the porch light and went inside.
The next night brought the same visitation; first the black female, then the rest of the Dartmoors would come silently and Gerald would light his pipe. They would watch each other, then the ponies would graze the moor in the moonlight. Gerald lived for his evenings with these animals although eventually he would start to grow tired and it was then he knew it was time for his pills. He would take them each night at the prescribed time and the Dartmoors would leave as though they knew he would be making his way to bed.
It was August when things changed for the first time in all the years Gerald had been on the moor. The black female had a routine. She would arrive first and remain at a distance while the others waited. On this night though, she left the safety of the tree line and trotted slowly towards the porch. She slowed to a walk about twenty feet from the porch. She looked at Gerald and him at her, as they had always done. Neither broke their gaze. The bold advance of the pony did not surprise Gerald. They had known each other for many years. She would only become bolder now that things had changed, although Gerald knew it all along to be true. The other ponies did not come that night. She turned and made her way towards the trees while Gerald watched her go. He took his pills and went to bed.
The next night Gerald sat on his porch, pipe dangling from his mouth and stared out at the crest of the hill. He waited patiently. Tonight was the night he’d been waiting for all this time.
Eventually she emerged out of the trees, coming up over the crest of the hill and making her way towards Gerald at a calm even trot. When she stopped a few feet from the porch, Gerald was no longer sitting but standing. They looked at each other for a time and then Gerald turned his gaze out at the moor. The others had congregated along the crest of the hill. Gerald nodded evenly to no one in particular and made his way down the porch steps. The pony raised her head and Gerald laid a hand upon the beautiful black creature’s mane.
“Okay,” he said. And that was all. It was the only time he had let her hear his voice. She made no sound and remained silent, as always. She turned and started to slowly make her way towards the others, stopping to look back at Gerald. He understood and followed her like she wanted him to.
It was a few days later when they discovered the body. Arthur had tried to call to see if his father would reconsider signing the papers but received no answer. Arthur had asked Dr. Wortham to join him on the trip out to the moor, even though he knew the doctor would not be of much use.
He looked at his father who was sitting in his chair on the porch, eyes open, looking out at the moor. His father looked incredibly peaceful and more at ease than Arthur thought he’d ever seen him while he was alive.
“He would always talk about the Dartmoor ponies when I visited him,” remarked Arthur, as he looked upon his father sitting there.
“Dartmoors, really? Hasn’t been a Dartmoor on this land for almost twenty-five years. The last of the breed died in captivity at least twelve years ago.” The doctor stood a moment in reflection. “Sad really, they were beautiful creatures.”
“I know,” said Arthur quietly, almost to himself. He turned and placed his hands on the railing of the porch, steadying himself, and looked out onto the moor. That is when he noticed something on the grass below and went down the steps to fetch it. About ten feet or so from the porch, Arthur reached down and picked up an unopened plastic container of his father’s pills.