The Girl Who Remembered Horses

by Linda Benson

  When the clan stopped their caravan for a lunch break, Sahara tended to her dogs first. After bringing them water and bits of food, she loosened their harness to let them rest. Then she untied Little One to see if she’d eat some grass.

  Laurel held out a slice of bread from the morning’s meal. “Here, sister,” she said. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Yes. But let me see if the horse wants something first.” Sahara walked Little One away from camp, spotting a field where the grass grew green and lush. The horse pricked her ears and danced lightly alongside of Sahara, held by the rope Ash had found.

  “You can’t have goat’s milk until we stop tonight,” she said, “but this should keep you satisfied.”

  The young horse put her head down and pulled at the grass greedily. They had traveled some distance now from their camp by the town ruins, and every day there seemed more grass for Little One. At this rate, she’ll be weaned soon.

  Sahara’s stomach rumbled. She had not eaten since morning. “Come on, little horse, time to go back.” She tugged hard on the rope.

  Little One grabbed one last bite of grass in her teeth before responding, following Sahara back toward camp. But the horse appeared nervous, and her ears kept flickering back and forth, as if listening for something. As she approached the line of carts, Little One danced and half-reared, and Sahara was relieved when she had her tied securely behind their cart.

  “Settle down, Little One. We still have a long ways to go. You’d better get used to being tied up.”

  “Sahara, you need to eat something.” Laurel came up behind her with the bread and some dried jerky. “You might not be much for cooking duties, but you do spend a lot of time taking care of all your animals,” she said, laughing. “I hope you find someone who appreciates that.”

  Sahara ducked her head. My animals appreciate me, she thought. Isn’t that enough?

  “Don’t take that the wrong way, little sister,” said Laurel. “I was trying to give you a compliment.”

  “Oh. Where’s Dojo?” He spent almost every meal with them now.

  “He left early this morning to scout for game.”

  There had been so few words between them recently that every conversation seemed strained. Ever since Dojo had used the book for kindling, Sahara felt like Laurel had been upset with her, especially after it was brought to Nehalem’s attention at the camp meeting.

  But now it appeared Laurel was making an effort to be friendly. “Your little horse seems to be doing all right. It’s probably hard for her to be tied all the time.”

  “She doesn’t like it one bit,” said Sahara, accepting the food Laurel held out to her. “But at least she’s getting some exercise, even if it’s just walking. If she was loose she’d probably be running circles around us.”

  Laurel laughed. “Well, hopefully around us. And not through the middle of things, like before.”

  “I know. If everybody hadn’t been so angry, back there, it was almost funny, what Little One did.”

  Laurel giggled. “Do you remember Greta, who said the horse broke her dishes? Her face turned about three shades of purple, she was so mad.”

  Sahara started giggling, too, and she and Laurel exchanged glances and laughed even harder.

  The horse had started to dance again, only this time she was held in place by the rope. Sahara walked over to sooth her. “What’s the matter, Little One? We’ll be going soon. It’s all right.” She tried to scratch the horse’s neck, but Little One buck-jumped away from her, letting out a long piercing whinny.

  Far in the distance, Sahara heard an answer. From across the wide prairie, she heard the frantic calling of another horse. Stepping aside to dodge the mincing hooves of her own skittish horse, Sahara shaded her eyes to look.

  Again, the sound of a whinny. No, more than one. She heard hoof beats now, louder and insistent. Many horses running, with a rumble like thunder.

  “What is it?” asked Laurel, stepping up beside her and squinting her eyes.

  Sahara pointed. Out of a cloud of dust emerged a whole herd of horses. Long necks outstretched, flying over the prairie, brown, dun, black, and gray, they rose and fell with the rise and fall of the ground underneath them, long legs gobbling up the earth. Sahara stood transfixed. Their beauty sent a thrill through her. They stirred her soul down to its very depths.

  They came closer and closer, frantically whinnying and charging over the earth. They are not meant for us to kill, she thought. They are too beautiful.

  But where was Dojo? Hadn’t he gone out to scout for game this morning? Had he stirred up the horses? Could he still be chasing them?

  Sahara was aware of her own horse now. Growing more and more frantic by the minute, Little One answered the herd with calls of recognition. This was her own kind. She whinnied and bucked and strained against the rope. The herd thundered close, and then, almost in unison, turned and started to gallop away.

  “Easy, girl. Easy,” she said to the young horse, trying to comfort her. But she could not get close to Little One’s flailing hooves.

  Little One reared and struck out with her front feet, fighting the rope. As the horses whinnied again, she pulled mightily and the rope snapped, leaving Little One tumbling into a heap on the ground in front of Sahara. Before Sahara could even take one breath, Little One gathered her feet underneath her and charged off onto the prairie, whinnying frantically and madly chasing after the herd disappearing in front of her.

  No. No! What if Dojo was out there with his arrows? He would not know one horse from another in the blinding dust.

  Sahara, her heart in her throat, raced after the young horse. “Little One,” she cried out. “Wait!”

  She ran, faster and faster, but her legs could not keep up, and the horses became smaller and smaller on the horizon in front of her. Tears burning her face, she ran until she could not catch her breath, her legs gave out entirely and she sank to her knees in the sand.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  FOR SAHARA, THE WORLD seemed to have stopped. She knelt in the desert, picking up handfuls of sand and letting them dribble between her fingers, over and over and over, until the tears dried into hard rivulets on her face. Her horse was gone. Gone like the racing wind, and there was no way Sahara could ever, ever, catch up with her. The hard reality sucked all the energy from her body and left her sitting like stone on the desert.

  “Sahara?”

  She jerked her head around, momentarily brought back to the real world by the sound of Laurel’s voice.

  “Are you all right?”

  Sahara nodded her head weakly. How long had she been out here? Minutes? Hours? It felt like a lifetime. Could her young horse even keep up with the wild herd, or was she still running madly to catch up? From some hidden reservoir of sadness, even more tears ran down her face, and any effort to be strong could not stop them. Sahara tried to stand, but her legs buckled, and she collapsed on the ground.

  Laurel knelt alongside of her, putting her arms around her like when she was a small child, rocking her. “I know you were attached to that baby horse, but she went back to her own kind. Maybe it’s for the best.”

  Sahara nodded her head, choking her words out. “When the first horse ran off, it was sad,” she blubbered, “but he was wild. This little one,” she gasped, breathing hard between tears, “I r-raised her.”

  “I know,” said Laurel, holding her tenderly. “I know what it means to raise someone.”

  “What if they’re mean to her?” asked Sahara, in a small voice. “Because her mother died, and this might not be the herd of horses she came from. What if they don’t accept her, and just leave her to die out here?”

  “I don’t know,” said Laurel. “I don’t know anything about horses. But they were beautiful, the whole herd of them, streaming out of nowhere like that, weren’t they?”

  “Yes,” said Sahara. “Can we wait for a while? In case Little One comes back?”

  “Sahara, the whole clan has been waiting
. You’ve been out here long enough already. I came to get you because they are anxious to move on — find a better place to camp before nightfall.”

  “But what if she comes back? And we’re gone? No, I have to wait longer. I don’t want to leave her out here.”

  “Sahara,” said Laurel. “Everyone is ready to push on. And I can’t leave you out here. It’s time to go.”

  Sahara could not make her legs move. She couldn’t go back, and she couldn’t leave her horse. It didn’t seem right. Could Little One survive eating just grass, without the goat’s milk? And wouldn’t she miss the humans that fed and cared for her? Miss being scratched on the neck? Sahara put her head between her legs and started to bawl.

  Laurel finally stooped, embracing Sahara and helping her to stand upright. “Come on, sister. I know you don’t want to, but look.” She pointed back toward camp.

  Rubbing tears from her eyes, Sahara strained to see. Far in the distance, where the horse had broken away from the cart, she saw people milling about, waiting for her.

  “Everyone is all packed and ready to move out,” said Laurel.

  Reluctantly, Sahara began to shuffle her feet.

  Laurel hugged her fiercely. “I know how much the horse meant to you. You seem to have some natural gift with them. It’s odd, that you could tame a wild animal like that.”

  “She wasn’t wild,” Sahara spit out. “I fed her milk. She was tame.”

  “Sahara, face the facts. I know it’s sad for you, but when given the opportunity, the horse’s wild streak came out, and she followed it.”

  Sahara chewed on the inside of her cheek. She had been so sure about this young horse. She could see herself riding it, had even promised Ash he could ride it someday. And now it was gone. Sahara could not believe it.

  “You go back,” she pleaded. “Tell them I’m coming. I just want to walk in slowly.”

  “No, you need to come now, Sahara.”

  “Please…” Sahara begged. She could not leave yet. She just couldn’t.

  “All right,” said Laurel, relenting. “I’ll tell them. But don’t take too much more time, okay?” She strode off briskly toward camp.

  Sahara, purposefully slowing her steps, began walking, one foot after another, in the general direction of camp. She kept looking over her shoulder, toward the spot where Little One had run after the herd. The horse might still be coming back. She might be. At least it was quiet on the prairie, now that Laurel had gone, except for the sound of her own footsteps.

  In the silence, Sahara imagined the horse running back to her. What would Little One be thinking? Wait, wait for me. Don’t leave. Sahara heard a frantic whinny, small and far away. She put her hand over her eyes and squinted towards the horizon. Nothing.

  Stop it, Sahara. You’re just wishing it to happen. You must go back.

  But as she walked, she heard it again. Another whinny, and another. Her heart began to pound so hard in her chest, she could barely hear anything. Turning once again toward the sound, she noticed a small cloud of dust. It was coming toward her!

  She heard hoof beats, a steady staccato on the desert floor. Wait for me, wait for me, wait, they said. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

  Sahara knew it was real then. She recognized those hoof beats. And she recognized the frantic calling of the small creature racing back toward her. Little One!

  But her heart lurched into her throat as she saw another, smaller cloud of dust off to the side. Another horse? No, it was a human. A hunter. Dojo! Advancing into the path of the young horse, he swung a weighted leather trip cord in circles over his head.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “STOP IT,” SHE SCREAMED, the wind stretching her words across the desert.

  He glanced her way, the cord in his upraised hand still swinging.

  Little One slid to a stop at the commotion, spun on her haunches and began running in circles, dripping with sweat.

  Sahara, fighting exhaustion, found strength in her legs once again. She scrambled toward Dojo. “That’s Little One,” she shouted. “That’s my horse!”

  “Your horse?” Dojo said. “She was running with the wild ones, which I’ve been trailing all morning. I finally got close, and this one lags behind. She’s weak, and ripe for the kill.”

  Sahara followed his line of sight. Little One was covered with sweat, caked with dust from the prairie, and barely recognizable. The young horse let out a long piercing whinny, this time directed toward Sahara.

  “Look,” Sahara pointed, “she drags a rope. Can’t you see that?’

  “I see that she’s running wild on the prairie, chasing the others, and she cannot keep up. She’s a straggler.”

  “Nehalem said you were not to harm her. At the camp meeting.”

  “Nehalem also said you needed to keep her under control. Which you obviously cannot.” He spit sideways, and began swinging the cord over his head. His hunting knife loomed large in a sheath at his waist. “So all agreements are off. This horse is now no different than any other wild thing. She is fair game for the taking, and you have stood in my way long enough.”

  He began stalking Little One now, who still raced in circles, trying to get closer to Sahara, but frightened of the man swinging his weapon.

  “She was running back to me,” screamed Sahara. “Look at her. She’s trying to get close to me now, and you’re scaring her.”

  “She is weak and could run no further. That’s why she came back,” said Dojo, smirking.

  “Is that why she gallops around and around?”

  And as they stared, Little One picked up speed, circling even faster and faster.

  “Put down your weapon,” said Sahara. “The horse will come to me, and then you will see she is not wild.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you know I am right,” choked Sahara. “Besides, you would not dare disobey a direct order from Nehalem. The horse is an orphan, like I am, and like you are too, Dojo!”

  Did she dare say this? She was grasping at straws now, anything to save her horse. “She will come back to me, to the one who cared for her and loved her. And if you care for my sister, if you want her love and respect, if you ever want a family of your own, you will not harm this horse. Please,” she cried out, her voice breaking. “If you have any goodness or decency in you at all — leave my horse alone.”

  Sahara wasn’t sure which of the reasons she gave made the difference. Or if any of them did. She only knew that Dojo’s arm dropped to his side. His eyes glared with anger, and he grunted in disgust but he stood back.

  “Little One,” said Sahara, calming her voice. She took a few tentative steps toward the horse.

  Little One, breathing heavily, stepped forward gingerly, still dragging the frayed and broken rope. She hesitated, eyeing Dojo with fear, and mincing sideways.

  “It’s all right,” soothed Sahara, reaching out a hand. “He won’t hurt you.”

  Little One was upon her then, thrusting her soft muzzle into Sahara’s chest.

  Sahara’s arms went around the young horse’s neck, and she buried her face against her. “You came back to me,” she murmured. “You’re my horse, aren’t you?”

  She rubbed her arms over the small horse’s back, wiping dirt and sweat from her legs, checking her everywhere. Little One made no effort to move or run away.

  Sahara glanced sideways at Dojo. “She came back,” she said, “because she belongs with us. She remembers humans. She is not wild.”

  Not waiting for a response, she began walking toward camp, making no move to grab the broken rope dangling from the horse’s head. There was no need. Little One came on her own, following willingly. Sahara, regaining her energy, moved hastily, the horse trotting easily alongside her.

  Sahara was exhausted when they finally approached the waiting clan. Ash came running out on the prairie to greet them, his eyes bright with delight. “She came back? She’s here, she’s here!” He did a little jig of pleasure.

  L
aurel walked quickly out to meet her sister. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” she said. “How did you catch her?”

  “I didn’t catch her,” said Sahara. She laughed, running her hand lightly over the horse’s forelock. “She came back on her own.” In a smaller voice, so no one else would hear, she asked, “Is Dojo behind me? I don’t want to look.”

  Laurel nodded. “He’s coming toward camp. What did he do? Was he hunting the horse? Did he give you trouble?”

  Sahara glanced at her sister’s earnest face and shook her head slowly back and forth. “Not really.”

  “I can barely believe it,” someone said. “A wild horse coming back like that.”

  Voices chattered all around. “It’s a good thing, too. Dojo might have killed it out there on the prairie,” said someone else, as Dojo strode into camp.

  “Hey, Dojo,” someone hollered. “Coming back empty handed? Couldn’t you even run down this baby horse?”

  Sahara shuddered as he passed close.

  “The horse is not wild,” he said, gruffly. “It belongs to the girl.” Without another word, and with barely a glance at Sahara or Laurel, he slunk past the crowd.

  Sahara breathed out a long sigh of relief. She tried to stand up tall, but Little One was pressing against her for attention, almost knocking her over. Ash scratched the horse’s back, and hands began to reach out and touch her from all directions. The horse stood quietly, as if enjoying all the human attention.

  “It’s true,” said Sahara. “The horse is not wild. She ran away from us, but then she remembered where she belongs — with us.”

  “Yes,” agreed Nehalem, “I believe you have been right all along.” And in a louder voice, he said, “As everyone can see, the horse is not wild. It will stay in Sahara’s care, and no one may harm her.”