The Bridle

by Wolphin

Cathy was mad about horses. She did not just love them, she lived them. Horses, centaurs, unicorns. If it was even vaguely equine she knew about it. For the most part, her family ignored her obsession. Yes, they bought her things for her collection, but besides that they did not get involved. There was only one member of her family who shared her passion.

That was her great Aunt Joan. Joan gave Cathy her first horse at age three months. It was an exquisite piece, hand carved and painted and Cathy had treasured it for all of her twenty four years. Cathy loved to visit Aunt Joan, not only did she have her own huge collection of equine memorabilia, but she also lived on seven acres of land, which she let out for agistment.

Joan and Cathy shared a common bond. Often they would sit together discussing the mysteries of the equine form and contemplating life in a herd. So it was with great sadness Cathy learnt of her Aunt's demise. It was hardly unexpected, after all, her Aunt was in her nineties, but still Cathy remembered the chill which passed through her as she was told the news.

A few weeks later a large package was delivered to Cathy's house. The accompanying letter was from the executor of Joan's estate. Apparently Joan had specified the box and its contents were to go to Cathy and no one else.

Dragging the box inside, Cathy cut through the cardboard, curious to know what was inside. As soon as the knife pierced the tape, she received her first clue. The room was suddenly filled the familiar smell of leather, polish, freshly cut hay and a hint of horse. Ripping the top open, she let out a small gasp of wonder.

Inside was what looked like a complete tack set for a horse. She already owned two, even though she was without horse, but this was something different. Reverently she reached in and began to withdraw the pieces.

There was the bit, the bridle, stirrups, saddle, breastplate. Everything.

It was exquisite. She had never seen craftsmanship like it before. The dark leather gleamed with polish, supple and studded with brass buttons. The metal fixtures were ornately carved with dancing horses and Celtic patterns.

Putting the saddle on the arm of a chair she sunk herself into it, its soft leather cradling her. She was convinced this was something you could ride in for a week and not feel any effects at all.

She marvelled at the tack for hours, studying each piece in minute detail, but unable to find even the smallest hint of a flaw. It must have cost a fortune. Finally, as midnight approached she drew herself away and forced herself into the shower before bed.

After a very quick shower she was back in the living room marvelling at the equipment once more. With only a towel around her slender body, she inspected each piece one last time before bed. Finally she was left fondling the bridle, its metal caressing her skin with its cool touch.

It was late and an idea flickered though her mind.

Lifting the bridle up, she deftly slid it over her head.

"Kinky," she thought looking at the room from between the leather straps.

Humming to herself, she folded the leather back until the bit was against her lips. Looking around the empty room just to make sure no one had materialised, she opened her mouth and slid the brass bit inside.

Her first reaction was to gag. It seemed so big, but she fought that reaction and slowly her mouth seemed to accept it, her tongue ran over its smooth surface and it did not see that big any more. Dropping to all fours, she paraded around the room for a few minutes, pretending.

Then reality cut in and she realised the foolishness of her situation. Climbing to her feet, the towel snagged on a chair and fell to the floor, leaving her naked except for the bridle. Rubbing the smooth metal between her teeth she reached up to slide it off her head.

That was strange.

Her fingers could not seem to get hold of it properly. The seemed to be stuck together somehow.

Confused she lowered her hands into her field of vision and let out a gasp. Her fingers had somehow fused into a solid lump. As she watched, what remained of her knuckles seemed to melt and run together. Then her nails began to spread. At first they were the familiar pink, but then they darkened, fading to a deep black, which curved around each hand.

Her wrists began to ache and she watched as the bones beneath them shifted grotesquely. In a sudden wave of panic she realised her hands now looked like horse hooves!

It had to be the bridle! She had to get it off!

Rushing to the mirror on the wall she looked up at herself and let out a squeal of terror. Her face had begun to push out, her mouth still clenched around the ornate bit, but now it was not too big for her. Her lips had expanded and grown rubbery, there soft skin now clenched the metallic bit easily. As she watched her nose somehow side down to join her lips which then extended out in front of her. Dragging the leather with it, so the front half of the bridle now fit snugly against her newly formed muzzle.

With a groan her head seemed to spit in two, her eyes siding across her head and suddenly she was unable to look at the mirror directly. Tilting her head, she peered at herself, watching as her blue eye faded to a deep brown, then grew larger. As it did so, her vision worsened and she suddenly became aware of a void in front of her where she was unable to see. She felt her ears slide up to the top of her now expansive forehead and suddenly she was aware of new sounds as the pivoted unconsciously above her.

The back of her head reshaped itself, pulling the bridle snugly against her skin in a somehow familiar way. She felt her neck extend, new muscles forming to hold her now huge head easily. She found herself leaning forward as her balance changed and dropped to all fours before she fell. Somehow this was more comfortable and by craning her head around she was able to see her feet had changed in the same way as her hands.

Cathy felt a mane begin to sprout from her neck and run along her back. At the same time, her spine lengthened, making ominous popping and grinding noises as the muscles adjusted themselves. As her spine eased itself into relative stillness, a sharp pain from its end announced the arrival of her tail. Looking over her now large but skinny back, she saw its silver strands lengthen to hand behind her.

If all the changes so far had been strange, nothing prepared her for the next sensation. It was almost like falling, but in reverse. Her arms and legs lengthened, her arms and shoulders reforming themselves into legs as she grew to her new height. Muscles forming under her skin as the remains of her human torso ballooned out into that of a horse. Her rib cage expanded to take her larger lungs which she now filled with calm breaths.

Next came the worse bit, her entire skin suddenly felt as if it was on fire. She fidgeted and nosed at her foreleg, realisation dawning as her nose brushed against emerging hairs. After a few seconds, the sensations subsided and she looked herself over with her myopic vision.

>From what she could tell, she was a dapple-grey mare. The bottom of her legs faded to an unusually dark grey and if her view of the mirror was correct, there was a white star on her forehead.

Strangely, this did not seem to bother the human Cathy. The equine Cathy was as unperturbed and directed their body over to munch on the table centrepiece.

That was when she noticed the human. It was a young male, not very old, but he had a strange look about him, as if her knew something she did not. Smiling, he reached down and picked up a brush from the pile of tack spread across the floor. Walking forward slowly he held out a hand for her to smell.

Instinctively she lent forward, somewhat cautiously to nose at his hand. He opened it and inside was a cube of sugar which she snuffled up. It was delicious! As she nosed about his persons for a second cube he began to gently scratch her shoulder and talk in a soft soothing voice.

The voice was very relaxing and she almost did not notice as he placed the brush on her flanks. Slowly he began to groom her side. It felt delightful and she almost found herself nodding off and he caressed her new body with the instrument, all the while talking softly to her.

It was strange, she knew she could understand what he was saying, but somehow the words lost their meaning, it was more their feeling she could understand. Occasionally he would ask a question and she would nod her head vaguely in a response.

Finally he finished her grooming and began to assemble to tack on her. Whispering something to her, the boy tightened the straps as she breathed in for him. Lastly, he clipped the rains on her bridle and placed them lightly across the saddle. Moving to in front of her, he lightly kissed her muzzle, then stepped back. As he did so, the walled shimmered and faded, showing the inside of a barn.

As its familiar smells washed over Cathy she knew she had to make a choice. She could remain here and return to normal before morning. Or she could follow him and remain like this for the rest of her life. Destined to be a princess's steed in the King's Royal Court.

The choice was hers.

For a moment, she contemplated, then with her mind made up she stepped forward onto the cobbles of the barn. Behind her the room shimmered and disappeared, leaving an innocuous timber wall...

When someone went looking for Cathy the next day, they were unable to find any trace of her. The only clue they received was in the form of a note taped to the lid of a cardboard box from her dead Aunt. All it said was : "Have the courage to go where I did not - Joan."

The Bridle copyright 1999 by Wolphin.