Kelly Hunter

Nelson does not know that the big black animal he shares a field with once carried a rider down the Mall through a wall of sound and never flinched. Nelson does not know about the state funeral, the slow march, the drums, a nation watching through its tears. Nelson knows that the big one is warm to stand beside on a cold morning, that he does not hog the good grass, and that he goes oddly soft when a particular man appears at the gate. Nelson has assessed Hector thoroughly, the way a donkey assesses everything, and filed him under: fine. Large, but fine. It is the highest honour Hector has ever been paid, and the only one that asked nothing of him in return.