by Linda Benson
Blitz whined and wiggled impatiently as she fastened the makeshift harness across his chest and secured it under his belly. Sahara never minded her chores with animals. She was good with animals because she felt comfortable with them. They never judged her, or ordered her around, or thought of her as silly.
“Just wait,” she crooned to Blitz. “Don’t be in such a hurry. You’ll be tired soon enough.” Banner stood calmly while Sahara worked, licking her hand when she finished.
Laurel balanced the load while Sahara finished hooking the tugs.
“Let them walk forward a few steps and see if they can handle it,” Sahara said.
Gingerly, with Sahara’s urging, the dogs lunged against the tight ropes. First one and then the other, then both working together they began moving the load.
“Come, dogs. I know it’s heavy,” said Sahara. “But we’ll take lots of rest breaks.”
Slowly, laboriously, the entire clan inched forward. Some with teams of dogs pulling carts, some with single dogs harnessed to poles in a V-shape laden with lighter loads, and some with packs on their own backs. The only ones allowed to ride were the very old and the very young. Everyone else walked. In deepening darkness, through the rising of the moon, Trader’s Clan began the long journey across the desert.
Sahara had no time to think about her dreams of strange, beautiful creatures with flowing manes and tails. She worried about her dogs every single minute. The load of recycled goods on their cart was heavier than anything they had ever pulled. Sahara walked ahead of the dogs, encouraging them, aware of their tired panting as the night grew deeper. Laurel walked behind, helping Grandfather negotiate the rough path. Someone moaned from near the back of the line of carts, and with much relief, Sahara heard Nehalem signal for a halt.
Sahara immediately found a jug of water, and before taking a drink herself, she emptied some into a bowl for her thirsty dogs. Banner and Blitz lapped eagerly.
“You are such good dogs,” she said, stroking them behind their ears. “I’m sorry you have to work so hard.”
After a short rest, the awkward line of animals, carts, and people began moving again, and it was several long hours before Nehalem signaled to break for a meal. “Leave the dogs harnessed,” he said, “but undo them from their loads. And let’s build a small fire to warm some food.”
Sahara’s stomach churned at the thought of food. She felt exhausted from traveling through the night and worrying about every step.
“How is Grandfather doing?” she said, as she approached the back of the cart.
“Good,” said Laurel. “He walked by himself most of the way, and just now sat on the cart.”
“I’m fine,” Grandfather boasted, setting his feet down on the parched earth. “Let me eat just a little, and I’ll be able to walk again for a while.”
Two older women built a fire using dry mesquite branches as kindling. “We could use more firewood,” one of them hollered.
Sahara, walking quickly away, used the opportunity to relieve herself in the darkness. Then, in the flickering light, she searched for larger branches to keep the flame going. Gathering an armload, she dumped them close to the fire. Ash’s mother and another woman took turns stirring a large pot of broth for all to share.
Sahara picked up a pointed piece of wood and aimlessly scratched in the dirt as she waited for her food. She drew a long animal head, with a big jaw and sharp, alert ears on top. Idly, not sure what she was doing, she added eyes, but they didn’t look right. She scratched them out and tried again, making them bigger. There, that was better. Then she added a neck. Long, sloping, with a wild, tangly mane floating upward.
“What are you drawing?” said Ash, suddenly appearing behind her.
Sahara startled, as if caught doing something wrong. She hastily began scratching over the dirt drawing, but Ash grabbed her hand.
“Wait,” he said. “What is that? I’ve never seen an animal like that.”
“Shhh,” said Sahara. “Neither have I, actually.” Should I tell Ash about my dreams? “I mean, not exactly.” To Sahara, the animals in her dreams were like a secret she wasn’t quite ready to share.
“Broth is ready,” Ash’s mother called out to everyone. Sahara walked toward their cart to gather her family’s dishes. Laurel was in some sort of discussion with Dojo, one of their best hunters.
Sahara watched them keenly. Why were they standing so close? What were they whispering about?
“The broth is ready,” Sahara hollered, a little louder than necessary, just to make sure that Laurel would come and eat with her. “Do you have our bowls?”
“I’ll bring them,” said Laurel sharply, looking like a startled rabbit. Laurel never acted that way. “Dojo and I were talking about…hunting. Go and find Grandfather, and I’ll be right there.”
Maybe the strain of traveling, or the long miles ahead, is just making everyone edgy, thought Sahara. She pulled her shirt around her tightly to ward off the night’s chill, and felt her ribs protrude sharply against the thin cloth. She hoped Laurel would hurry with the bowls. Her stomach growled.
Chapter Four
JUST AT DAWN DURING the third week of travel, Sahara switched places with Laurel. Her sister walked in front with the dogs for a bit, while Sahara balanced Grandfather on the cart, his bony legs finally too tired to walk. A baby cried from the family behind her. Traveling was hard on the old and the young, and the wind blew harsh and relentless.
How much farther until the Gardener’s Camp? Sahara pushed aside a desire to hop up on the cart next to Grandfather. They had already traveled many miles that evening, and even her small weight would be an extra burden to the dogs. Surely Nehalem would find a place to stop soon.
Shading her eyes, Sahara squinted into the rising sun, following a cloud of dust streaming across the horizon. Could it be a Wanderer? Once in a great while a solitary traveler wandered into their camp. Usually these interesting people shared stories and information, but did not stay long.
But this movement appeared to be a group of animals traveling at a good clip. She strained her memory. Deer? No, they glide through the willow breaks without sound. Elk? No, Laurel said they had not been seen for many moons.
Dojo and some of the other hunters cried out. “Look! Up ahead!” The entire clan came to a halt and stopped to stare. Some men and boys, including Ash, darted to the front of the group.
“What is it?” Sahara called out. Laurel had a better view, and she probably knew which animals raced across their field of vision.
Sahara checked quickly on Grandfather, then hustled toward the front of the cart. Far in the distance, she could just make out legs and feet pounding through the cloudy haze. Large and small, wild manes whipping above long, sloping necks, tails flowing in wild abandon, it appeared to be a group of mixed ages. The animals looked almost like her stick drawing in the dirt. Could it be? Could these be the creatures in her dreams? But what were they?
Sahara pushed her way forward, hoping to get a better view. She gazed into the dust, focusing her eyes on the horizon.
“Horses!” someone called out.
Sahara had heard the word. Horses — rare creatures hardly ever seen since the Dark Days. A chill went through her body. Something stirred deep within her that she could not comprehend. Although this was the first time in her entire twelve years that she had seen real horses, they felt achingly familiar.
Dojo, who prided himself on his hunting prowess, pumped his fist in the air and shouted. “Hurry! After them!” Tossing his long hair from his face, he gestured with his spear. “There goes enough meat for the entire clan.”
Sahara shook her head. As the tangle of wild legs disappeared quickly into the horizon, she felt a thrill, a sense of recognition. Not a hunter’s thrill, not a meat-in-the-stewpot thrill, but a closeness, a feeling of kinship and protection.
Nehalem put up a hand for silence. “We have been traveling all evening. Let us stop for a rest, and we will discuss this.”
Sahara’s stomach churned. Something was not right. The sight of horses melting into the horizon, the dust, the running herd, these were the creatures in her dreams. But in her dreams, she was not hunting a horse. She was not spearing a horse, or cooking horsemeat over an open fire.
In Sahara’s dreams, she was often on the horse’s back, feeling the wind in her face, becoming one with the thundering hooves beneath her, racing wildly across the plains.
Sahara shook her head, trying to snap back to reality. Her belly growled with hunger. Surely if Dojo and the hunters wanted to go after the herd it would be a good thing.
No! A voice inside her spoke. No!
Nehalem looked directly at her. Had she spoken aloud?
She couldn’t believe the word had come from her mouth. But a feeling stronger than any she had known told her it was wrong for Dojo to hunt the horses.
“Did you speak, young one?” Nehalem looked in her direction. “Do you have something to say?”
Chapter Five
SAHARA SENSED MANY EYES turn toward her. Suddenly shy and unsure, an answer welled up inside, but she bit it back. She glanced toward the far hills, where the haze of dust stirred by the horses still lingered. Surely if Dojo and the men were successful in their hunt, the clan would eat and gain strength. Sahara shrugged her shoulders, doubting her own foolish thoughts. They had come only from a dream.
“N-Nothing,” she said, her eyes downcast. But the feeling lingered, and she raised her head towards the horizon, hoping for one last glimpse of outstretched legs and flowing manes.
As Nehalem suggested, the weary clan stopped to rest. Sahara stroked her dogs, loosening their harness so they could lie comfortably. Her belly cramped from lack of food, but she told herself to be strong.
Dojo and a few other young hunters continued to pace the edge of the makeshift camp, restless. Nehalem stepped to the center of the group. As he cleared his throat to speak, all heads turned toward him.
“Those were horses that crossed our path,” Nehalem said. “Surprisingly, a whole herd of them. They have been scarce these past years, with so little grass. How many of you have never seen them before?”
Hands shot up. Sahara started to raise hers, but put it back down.
A shout came from the back. “We should give chase!” cried Dojo. A few other young men muttered in agreement.
Nehalem ignored them, continuing.
“Although some may disagree, I have made a decision.” Nehalem looked directly at Dojo. “We are only one day’s travel from the Gardener’s Camp. I don’t think it is wise to split up the group. And, speaking from past experience, horses are known to be too difficult to hunt. They are fleet of foot, swifter than the fastest of our hunters.”
Sahara listened with great intensity. Horses, fleet of foot. Just like in her dream. How could she dream of something she had never seen until now? The fleeing animals, gone now in the swirling dust, were the first horses she had ever been close to, and it had only been a brief glimpse. Why did they feel so familiar?
“Our bellies ache. Our children and old ones suffer,” Nehalem went on. “Let us rest for a while, and then continue our journey — all of us together.” Nehalem glanced sternly at the young hunters.
Dojo and the others grumbled among themselves, but seemed to accept the decision. Sahara breathed a sigh of great relief. She did not understand why she felt so protective of the animals that she had barely seen.
Laurel wandered near. “Was that your first sighting of horses, sister?”
“Yes.” Sahara nodded. Not counting my dreams. “I can’t believe how fast they can run.”
“Once, long ago, I spotted a small band of them, high on a ridge of juniper.”
“You never told me,” said Sahara.
“Well, they were gone before I could coil my weapon.” Laurel smiled. “They sensed me, or smelled me, and they vanished like the wind.”
Sahara wanted to tell her sister about the dreams. But Laurel was a huntress, and something inside told Sahara to keep silent.
“Nehalem did the right thing,” said Laurel. “Grandfather, and some of the older clan members, are worn out from the trip. They don’t want to admit it, but we should keep everyone together until we all get safely into camp.”
Sahara nodded. She blinked, sleepy from the long night of travel. She unhooked the harness from her dogs, leaning back against Blitz while idly stroking Banner’s soft coat. The sun began its climb into the cloudless sky, and the warm air lulled her.
Emerging from a thick forest, the herd stampedes in front of me. Black manes flowing, tails outstretched as they widen the distance between me. One female lags behind, hesitating, looking back. I follow her gaze to the broken rock wall protruding from the soil. Something is trapped there, struggling. Shh, I say. Shh.
“Come, child.”
“Hmm, what?”
Grandfather was standing over her, watching her closely. “You were talking in your sleep, dear. Hurry, the camp is departing.”
Sahara heard the dogs whine. Her fingers fumbled with their harness. As she rushed them toward the path where the clan lined up, she tried to recapture the feeling of the dream. It was still fresh in her mind. She was talking in her dream. She was comforting something — a wounded creature. A baby horse.
Chapter Six
THE GARDENER’S CAMP WAS noisy and boisterous. Children played stick ball. Buildings fashioned from weathered wood and large scraps of metal were set up in a permanent fashion and decorated with painted designs. Sahara breathed in delicious aromas as they approached. From the eating hall, the smell of baking bread and spicy herbs mingled with the odor of many humans.
There were corrals off to the right, with barns for goats and chickens, as well as rows and rows of neatly-tended crops in the fertile earth behind the camp.
Entering the Gardener’s Camp was a joyous affair on all sides. They would be welcomed here, trading skins and recycled goods, helping with chores and other camp functions. As the overburdened dogs pulled their loaded carts into camp, children stopped their games and ran to greet them. Adults streamed by, eyeing the goods carried on the dog carts.
Young Ash, full of energy, darted off to meet his friends. Sahara stayed close to her dogs. She watched the activity all around her, but her shyness kept her from venturing out into the crowd. As strangers came by to pet the dogs, Blitz wagged his tail foolishly at the attention. Banner was a bit standoffish, looking to Sahara for approval. Sahara’s belly rumbled again, but agreeably so, knowing they would soon be able to eat more fully than they had in weeks.
Laurel helped Grandfather down from the cart, and Sahara unhooked her tired dogs. “Shoo, go away.” Sahara clapped her hands at two over-friendly camp dogs, chasing them away from Banner and Blitz. What if these strange dogs carried the dog distemper? She told herself to stop worrying. These were not wild dogs.
Sahara gazed through the crowd, searching for someone she knew. Would anyone remember her? It had been almost an entire year since her clan had departed last fall. She remembered helping in the summer gardens, pulling weeds and chasing baby goats away from the fragile plants. She had carried the errant babies back to their keeper, an older boy named Evan.
As she looked for Evan now, scanning the depths of the crowd, someone rudely brushed past her, almost knocking her down. Dojo.
“We would not still be waiting for our supper like beggars if Nehalem had allowed me to chase the horses.” He talked loudly as he passed, as if trying to impress her.
Dojo was full of himself. Normally she would let such a comment slide, but the thought of him actually killing a horse made her shudder.
“Nehalem says they are too fast to hunt,” she said.
“Bah,” spit Dojo. His shirt hung open in the front
, revealing his lean, muscular chest. “He knows I am the fastest hunter in the entire clan, and he did not even give me a chance to catch them.”
“Perhaps it is not meant for us to kill them,” she said. The words came out in a rush. “They are so beautiful.”
“Spoken like a silly girl who knows nothing. A horse would stock the winter larder. It would feed our young children and your old grandfather. A young horse would be especially tender and succulent.”
Not a young horse. Sahara shivered.
“Sahara, come on.” Laurel was motioning to a large table being spread out with food.
Sahara needed no urging, and jumped at the excuse to end this conversation with Dojo.
As the food was passed out — vegetables, goat meat, cornbread, and warm mash — her stomach churned with anticipation. People of her clan ate heartily, firing questions at their hosts, and talk began in earnest.
“Has the lack of rain hurt the crops? Have you seen much wild game nearby?”
Sahara had not eaten so much in a very long time. Laurel sat on one side of the table, smiling. Grandfather seemed to gain strength with the welcome variety of food, and with sharing stories and news with old friends around the long tables.
Finally sated with food, Sahara stuffed some bits of meat into her clothing for Banner and Blitz. As she stood to leave she heard Dojo, his angry voice rising above the crowd.
“Have any of you seen the horses?” he asked loudly.
No one from the Gardener’s Camp answered. Sahara breathed a sigh of relief. She still felt strangely protective of the animals she had only glimpsed from a distance.
But a male voice answered from the back of the crowd. “Why do you ask about horses?” Sahara could not see who it was, but the person sounded familiar.
Dojo seemed caught off guard by the reply. “A herd of horses crossed our path yesterday, on the way to your camp.”
“So?” The speaker now emerged from the shadows. Evan. He had grown taller since the last time Sahara had seen him, and his voice was huskier than she remembered.
