When I first got Finn, his tail was knotted beyond anything I’d ever seen before, so tightly fused that it felt like a rope. Impenetrable.

I worked on that tail for weeks. Every day, I tried to loosen the knots bit by bit, fingers aching, frustration mounting. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about the process, either—understandably so, given how uncomfortable it must have been. I tried everything: deep-conditioning soaks, leave-in sprays, oils. I picked through it strand by strand, determined not to cut it if I could help it.

I even found wire embedded in the tail. Small, twisted pieces tangled deep inside. I had no idea where it had come from or how long it had been there. It felt like a battle I was never going to win. I was tempted to cut it all off but didn’t want to leave him vulnerable to the bugs.

But then, after I’d been away for a few days, I walked into the barn and couldn’t believe my eyes.

The knots were gone.

Not loosened. Not partially improved. Just… gone. His tail hung smooth and full, as if the whole mess had never existed. I ran my fingers through it in disbelief, expecting to find stubborn tangles still buried beneath the surface. But no. It was free.

To this day, I have no explanation. No one at the barn admitted to working on it. There were no signs that he’d rubbed against something just right. It was as if—after weeks of struggling—some unseen force had simply decided to undo the mess.

That’s when I remembered the old stories of Fairy Knots—also called Elf Locks—where fairies would weave a horse’s mane or tail into impossible tangles overnight. Some said the knots were mischievous tricks; others believed they were marks of favor. Other mythology claims that witches borrow horses at night and ride them, leaving a braid in their manes (but not their tails?).

Another legend is that when a child dies, it brings profound sorrow to Heaven. The angels, overcome with grief, weep uncontrollably. Their tears fall like a gentle rain, creating a mist so thick that it becomes impossible for them to see clearly enough to guide the child’s soul to Heaven. In this moment of despair, the fairies come to the rescue.

However, with their delicate wings and diminutive size it’s difficult for them to get to heaven. They seek the help of horses on their journey. In the quiet of the night, when the world is asleep, and the stars are the only witnesses, the fairies braid intricate reins into the manes of horses. These reins serve as a mystical connection, allowing the fairies to borrow the horses for their heavenly mission.

But what if, instead of tangling his tail, the fairies had come to untangle it? Maybe, just maybe, they had seen how hard I had tried. How much I wanted to help this horse. Maybe they took pity on him, or on me.

Or maybe, in the quiet of the night, my horse finally decided to trust me—and somehow, in the way that only horses can, the knots simply let go.

I’ll never know what really happened. But I do know this: sometimes, the hardest knots in life don’t come undone until you’ve shown enough patience to deserve it.