by Lisa Maxwell
Chapter 7
At first Is was only going to follow the man for a couple of days. Then she would turn aside and find another place to live. It was late summer, and there would still be time to get ready for winter. There had to be.
But Lark wasn't happy with following. He pulled, impatient to catch up to the mare, and that evening Is had to tie him for the first time.
Partly to calm herself, and partly because she needed the food, she took her knife and went hunting. Hunting had become a ritual for her. Learning to take the lives of small animals had not been easy, but that first winter she had become desperate. Initially she had tried snares. But the animals were trapped, not killed, and suffered horribly until she came. So she had taught herself to kill with the small slim knife she had brought with her.
The knife was a clean death, very quick. The most wary, intelligent animals probably escaped. She liked to believe that.
She had learned a lot about the rabbits she hunted and had come to love their quick frightened temperaments. They could detect a predator with senses Is wished she had. The best way to hunt them was to wait, in a sort of non-waiting mode, for them to come to her. It was like a meditation. She had to keep her mind still, not wanting, expecting, or hoping. The animal would come, or not.
Is found a little trail and settled herself comfortably, dismissing all thoughts and worries. Lying in the grass, waiting in her special way, she found the peace the land always brought her. The problems the man had introduced into her life receded. Enveloped by the smells of the ground and the grass, she heard the birds begin their evening songs, the rustling of insects, and finally the movement of a small animal. The rabbit came grazing his way along the trail. A few steps, a hop, raise his ears a moment, nibble a few mouthfuls, step, hop. His nose twitched constantly as he watched for foxes, weasels, or owls – not expecting a being he had probably never seen before. Besides, Is wore clothes patched with rabbit skins and saturated with the smells of the ground.
Is always felt kinship with these small hunted animals. But that kinship contained the knowledge of their role as prey animals, just as she was prey to larger animals, and her own kind. The killing was not just for food, it connected her into the chain and that made her own death more acceptable somehow.
She carried the small warm corpse back to where Lark was tied. He had pawed a deep hole in a thwarted attempt to go to the mare. His neck and chest were wet with sweat. Is felt sorry for him. She didn’t mean to upset him, but he couldn't understand. She stroked his ears, trying to comfort him, but he had little attention to spare for her.
She began to question herself. Maybe she should go with the man and take her chances. At least he was not going back to the Alliance. But he was crazy and probably an outlaw. Still, he hadn't stolen Lark when he could have and he hadn't hurt her, only frightened her with his odd behavior. Lark finally decided the matter for her by letting out a ringing neigh that reverberated off the mountains. He neighed again and again, echo overlying echo. Is couldn’t have that. The noise would draw someone, Blueskins or Troopers.
It was almost dark by the time she caught up to the man. He had pitched his tent and was standing by it, alerted to her approach by the mare even though Lark had stopped calling. He did nothing to invite her to stay or to suggest he wanted her to leave. She was on her own with this decision. She dismounted and untacked Lark, who went immediately to graze with the mare.
The man had chosen his campsite well. There was water nearby and grazing for the horses. His tent was pitched on high ground, but sheltered from any unexpected storm by the lay of the land. He was apparently sane enough to use good camping skills.
He had a small fire going, and some water warming in a pot. Is took the rabbit to the fire and began to skin it. The man sat down near her and watched. Is ignored him. She was in her own world again. As she prepared the rabbit she gave thanks to the animal for dying for her. In that mood of thankfulness her awareness expanded until she felt communion with her own life, and her own death. She was part of the chain.
But the man intruded into her moment. He took the guts Is had set aside and slit them open and began sorting through the grasses and leaves the rabbit had eaten but not yet digested. He meticulously attempted to unfold and piece together each leaf and blade.
Is could no longer ignore him. His behavior frightened her all over again. When he began to eat the contents of the rabbit's stomach, it was too much for her.
The ritual had been ruined. More than ever, she regretted saving his life. Now she didn’t know what to do about him. She spitted the rabbit and sat in gloomy silence while it cooked. When it was done she offered the man half but he waved it away.
Is pitched her fly and spent a restless, wary night wondering what the man might do next. It was a relief to get moving in the morning.
The man's camp breaking was efficient and thorough. He took considerable care with dismantling the fire, soaking the coals and scattering them so they couldn’t start a fire and would sink quickly into the ground, replenishing it. Also there would be no trace of their camp. Is wasn't sure which consideration motivated him.
She watched him ride, trying to figure out if he could be the horseman who had trained his mare. She could not decide. He slouched in the saddle in a way good horsemen did not. But he might still be too weak to sit up, or he could be in some kind of pain.
They were wending their way through a canyon when suddenly the man slipped from the mare's back and scrambled up the rocks. Fearing ambush, Is twisted around in her saddle but saw nothing. Meanwhile, the man crouched like some wild animal, scraping frantically at the rocks with his knife. When he lifted the knife it was covered with bright yellow-green fungus. The man ran a finger along the side of the blade and slid all of the poisonous-looking glob into his mouth.
He started to scrape again but in a moment he dropped the knife. It clattered down the rocks as he pitched forward onto his hands and knees and vomited like a dog. Is sat on Lark and watched dispassionately. Perhaps he had poisoned himself and would die.
He didn't die. When he'd finished being sick, he slid down the rock, retrieved his knife and remounted the mare. He gave Is a wan little smile and started the mare walking. Is let Lark follow. She could not make sense of the man. He would not eat good meat. He ate the partially digested contents of the rabbit’s stomach and now this.
The ground became increasingly steep and rocky as they continued throughout the clear, calm day. The trees had shrunk down to miniature forms the height of Lark's belly. Their gnarled roots and twisted trunks told a story of great wind and hardship.
As they continued to climb they left the last of the little trees behind. Now the soil was a thin coating of pebbly stone over heartrock, the only vegetation a mossy sponge-like mat. When Is looked up she could see a saddle between the peaks that lay ahead outlined against a sky that was so deep blue it was nearly purple.
The summit looked close enough to touch but never seemed to get any closer as they kept plodding steadily uphill. Eventually they stopped to rest, dismounting and loosening the girths to let the horses relax.
Is stretched out on the ground under the cloudless sky. The sun bore down, pinning her to the earth. There was a silence here that was unusual in nature. Even the wind that usually haunted these high places was still. The rocky ground was warm against her back and the incline just right to let her overlook the stupendous view without having to lift her head. Ridge after ridge of tree-covered mountains faded away into the distance.
The exhausting effects of the altitude made Is lethargic. Below her an eagle circled lazily. She could see the sun glinting off the top of its wings. Such an unusual perspective on one of the great mountain birds gave her a sensation of flying. She could feel the slow wheeling around of the world under her. Dizziness seized her. She pulled her attention away from the bird and concentrated on feeling the solid
rock under her back. She slipped into a dream so smoothly she didn't even realize she had fallen asleep.
She was surrounded by horses as refined and delicate as the man’s mare. She caught her breath at their beauty, and something else . . . less easy to name, a sort of royalty. Their presence was an honor they bestowed upon her, letting her see them, ghost silent, dream real. It was as though they wanted her to know something.
The scrunch of Lark's hooves on the gravel woke her. She sat up too fast, startled from the dream. The landscape spun and stilled, empty of a herd of horses.
The man was lying not far from her, asleep. With his features relaxed, he looked so kind and gentle. Is wished she didn't know another side of him.
Lark and the mare were standing head-to-tail, each resting a hind leg, sleeping. Their heads hung low. Their tails swished gently from time to time, swiping the flies from each other's faces. Is hated to disturb such contentment, but they needed to crest the ridge and get down to the tree line on the other side to find water and grass for the horses.
Is deliberately scuffed the gravel. The man's eyes came open. He sat up and looked around, taking in the view. For a moment Is thought he was looking for her ghost herd of horses. But of course he would not have had the same dream. As his eyes met hers, he smiled that gentle, beautiful smile Is needed so much to see. He seemed to share her feelings – relaxed, at peace and euphoric on the top of the world.
But, Is reminded herself, he wasn't a trusted companion and they weren't on a pleasure ride. She stood up and went to Lark. She checked his hooves for rocks and the man began going over the mare as well. When he mounted they started up the incline again.
At the top of the saddle the wind hit them. It was surprisingly cold and in minutes they both had to don their coats. Now they really were on top of the world. Behind them there were only lower ridges. Ahead were taller mountains but their summits were eclipsed by clouds. Is knew it was probably snowing on those peaks.
Behind them was a beautiful, hot day. Ahead of them was winter.
As they started down the backside of the saddle the clouds began to move toward them. Soon they were riding in a cold mist. The temperature dropped and kept dropping. Snow came whirling out of nowhere, stinging against their faces, driven on the wind like hail, and even Lark faltered.
The wind grew stronger and the snow continued to come, obscuring everything. This was no little snow shower; this was a serious winter storm. The horses slipped and slid on the partially frozen ground and rocks that were quickly being covered with ice. Is could see nothing but the dark shape of the mare in front of her. The mare slipped badly and nearly sat on her haunches sliding down a rock face that had been invisible in the snow and gathering gloom. Is heard her frightened snort and then a grunt of effort as she lunged back up on the trail. Is tried to guide Lark around the rock but he wallowed suddenly in some sort of hole Is couldn’t see, dropping out from under her with a gut wrenching sensation. For an instant she didn’t know if they were falling off the mountain or just slipping a short distance. Then he lunged up, clawing his way up a bank Is couldn’t see. It was all she could do to stay centered in the saddle not knowing which way he would go next, but she had to trust his superior night vision and let him find his own footing.
Though it was crazy to keep going, they couldn’t stop on such a steep incline in the open wind. At times the descent was so steep Lark’s hindquarters were above his shoulders and Is had to lean back to keep from falling on his neck. He kept his hind legs tucked under him and his front feet stretched out ahead. In that posture he took small steps punctuated with stretches of sliding. It would have been a scary descent in good weather. In this blizzard all Is could do was trust Lark completely.
Suddenly Lark leveled out. The wind checked and the snow swirled instead of driving blindly. They had reached a pocket of almost level land, a little protected from the wind although it roared above them, sounding like some monstrous force bearing down on them but never quite arriving.
The snow was deeper here. Even if ice lay underneath, it was too deeply buried to bother the horses. They immediately formed up side by side, rumps to the wind and heads hanging low, too tired to go on.
The man dismounted and started unpacking his tent. Is knew her makeshift tent was no match for this kind of wind and snow. She didn’t even bother to get it out of her pack. Instead she helped the man with his. He had a handy tool that forced the stakes right through ice and rock.
They crawled into the tent bringing snow in with them as there was no way to keep it out. Closing the tent flap against the wind was a struggle, and once it was closed, they were engulfed by darkness. The tent shook and shuddered with each new blast of wind. The small bent poles that held it up bent more and snapped back into place with ominous creaking and popping sounds. But the strange too-thin fabric didn’t tear.
Is couldn't see the man and couldn't hear what he was doing. But she couldn't squat there all night, dripping snow and getting colder by the second. She needed to get out of her wet clothes and into her sleeping bag.
The man bumped into her as she was struggling out of her jeans. He caught hold of her and she froze. Still unable to see him, she didn’t know if he was on the verge of one of his crazy attacks or not. She was trapped in a tent, half-undressed, half-freezing . . . and then he let go of her.
Hands shaking, she rummaged in her pack and found the small knife and set it where she could reach it. By the time she had gotten into a dry shirt and long johns and crawled into her bag she was freezing. Her hands were so numb she could barely feel the knife as she checked to make sure it was still within reach. She could cut herself and not even feel it, so she placed the knife just outside the bag where she hoped to be able to find it quickly. Her legs hurt with cold. Her feet were frozen lumps. Her hands were so cold that when she tried to use them to rub warmth into her feet she couldn’t feel her hands or feet. She put her hands under her armpits to warm them, which made her colder than ever. She began to shiver and couldn't stop. Her little homemade bag wasn't meant for this kind of weather.
She lay there feeling miserable and worrying about the horses. Lark was tough-skinned and hardy. If the cold didn't last too long he would survive. But the mare had a fine coat. They had both been sweating with the work of getting down the slope. Now they would be shivering. They had had no food since mid-morning, which made a big difference in how much cold they could withstand. Being grazers, they were designed to have food passing through their systems all the time. They had not eaten well even the day before. Between the cold and the lack of roughage they could colic and that could be life-threatening.
There was nothing Is could do. She huddled in her sleeping bag in her own misery and worried. She was far too cold to sleep. Shivering swept through her body in waves. Instead of getting warmer she seemed to be getting colder.
She suffered for what seemed the entire night, until finally she couldn't take any more. She crawled out of the bag and felt her way over to her clothes. They were stiff with frozen snow. Her pants cracked as she got into them. At least they were too frozen to be wet. She finished struggling into her clothes as quickly as she could. The cold made her have a desperate need to urinate.
She got the tent flap open more by luck than anything else. Outside it was still snowing, not quite as windy, but bone-chilling cold. The bright snow made it possible to see a little although it was very dark. Is moved cautiously. She was afraid of falling into a drift, or losing her way, so she didn't go very far. She fumbled with her pants with fingers that were stiff and unfeeling. Once she had them down it was too cold to let go. She had to stay that way quite a while before her body became convinced.
She could make out the shape of the horses. Lark seemed to be resting quietly but the mare was hunched and shivering. When Is laid her hands on the mare she could feel the muscles of her shoulders and hindquarters
quaking but there was nothing she could do for her. She attempted to put her hands into her pockets and got a shock. She felt nothing, no sensation whatsoever. She tried to do the motion by memory. Her arms moved vaguely, as though they were asleep. Her heart raced with uncontrolled fear. She'd been cold many times before, taking care of horses in winter, her hands aching, red and swollen but she'd never lost control of them like this.
She made her way back to the tent. In the dark and with no sense of feeling in her hands it was hard to get the flap open. She was beginning to realize that her life depended on doing it. A strange stubbornness came over her. She forced her hands to work in the way she remembered they needed to work, and somehow she got the door open.
She thought she heard the man move in his sleeping bag.
"It's me," she said. Her frozen face and lips didn't work right. Even if he couldn’t make out the words, he would recognize her voice. She had her back to him, concentrating on getting the flap sealed, when there was a sudden flicker of greenish light. She spun around, her mind full of the horrors she’d heard about this land, lost her balance, and fell ungracefully on her side. The man sat up in his sleeping bag holding a small tube in his hand. It cast a weak greenish glow that made his skin and hair look green and turned his eyes into strange dark shadows. Is fought down her fear, the light was just Alliance technology and the man was trying to help her, but she had to get out of her jeans again and she wished he'd turn it off.
Is did the only thing she could do, privacy wise. She didn't look at him. Getting her jacket off took total concentration. The buttons on her pants nearly defeated her. By the time she had gotten down to her underwear she was quaking all over and her sleeping bag wasn't going to be any help.
The sound of the seals being released on the man's bag startled her. When she looked at him he was lying back holding the bag open to her, inviting her in.
Her body cried out for relief from the cold, but her mind screamed its fear. She couldn't move. A very long time seemed to go by. He didn't move either. He must have be getting cold, his arm getting tired, holding the bag open to her but he didn't change position. Is got up the courage to look into his eyes. They were soft, concerned, waiting. Her body was screaming to take the offered warmth. Her mind was losing.
She moved before she was aware of having made any decision and slid into the bag with the man. His body was like a furnace at her back. She must feel like ice to him. She tried to keep from touching him, but the bag was not meant for two people. There was no way to avoid lying against him. Though she tried to keep her feet away from him, he deliberately brought his body into contact with hers along its whole length and brought his feet next to hers.
His arm lay across her waist holding the bag shut. It would not seal with both of them in it.
Is lay rigid, feeling scared, guilty and more scared. She thought how terrible it must be for him to curl up to someone as cold as she was. He'd expect something in return. Surely there was a price on this. He was still weak. Maybe she could fight him off. Did she have any right to take this warmth then? She lay in turmoil. He lay still.
Eventually the warmth seeped into her body and the tension began to fade but her mind was not ready to relax. Her thoughts took her back to the government school and inevitably to Riding Master Masley.
It had come as a relief when she had been sent to the Equestrian School to be trained. She had loved the horses immediately. Of course there were still other kids, and they were all above her and delighted in tormenting her. Yet somehow it wasn't so bad because of the horses.
Until Riding Master Masley.
. . . She heard his footsteps coming up behind her and quickly tried to think if she was doing anything wrong, or could be doing something better. She was carrying a saddle and bridle to the tack room to clean them after the morning workout. She was carrying them properly, moving quickly enough. She could think of no way she could be doing this better.
She turned into the tack room and breathed a little sigh of relief. The Riding Master would go on by. Instead he came in too.
Is busied herself setting the tack up for cleaning, pretending she did not know he was in the room with her. That lasted only a moment.
"Junior Apprentice Drey," he said.
"Yes, Riding Master." He would probably send her on an errand. Instead he came
over and perched one buttock on the edge of the table where she had laid out the saddle soap, sponge, and polishing cloth. She stopped disassembling the bridle. It would be rude to continue now that he had spoken to her.
He didn't say anything else for a moment, just rested there with one buttock on the table. He was wearing the black riding boots that came below his knees, and the tight-fitting stretch pants of his profession. He had just come from riding one of the horses. One of his hands rested on the table, one on his thigh.
"I have been noticing you,” he said.
Her heart sank. It was never good to come to anyone's attention, even if it wasn't for something bad. Anyway, a Riding Master would hardly be the one to reprove her for some sloppiness in cleaning tack or mucking a stall. There were senior apprentices for that, and above them junior riders and then senior riders. The Riding Master oversaw the senior riders and trained horses. It would be years before he should take any interest in Is.
"You are eager to begin learning to ride?" he asked.
Her eyes leapt to his before she could control herself. Yes. But so was everyone. Why single her out? Maybe he'd seen her watching the riders. Maybe, somehow, he knew she'd have more talent than the others. Maybe there was something about the way she handled the horses when she led them to the arena for the riders? Her heart was full of impossible hope, and her mind quick to find ways to believe.
He began to smile. He reached out and settled his hand over hers.
"Sometimes there are ways a student might pass to the riding phase without waiting four years."
His hand felt very hot on hers. She wanted to pull away, but didn't dare. She couldn't think of anything to say. She couldn't look at him.
"Do you understand me?" he asked.
She didn’t answer. She wanted to ride, but she couldn't do what he was asking. She couldn't. Although she knew many kids did it, she could not. She didn't know what was wrong with her.
He swung his bent leg forward and wrapped the toe of his boot around the back of her thigh, hooking her with it so she couldn't move away. His other hand came up and his fingertips touched the side of her face and ran down her neck. For a moment his hand cupped her breast, squeezing it, not hard but as though measuring the size of it, deciding if it was interesting enough to him, as he might size up a horse's potential. His hand felt unpleasantly hot. The lines his fingers drew down her body burned into her flesh. She hated him, and desperately wanted to move away from his touch, but she didn't dare.
"Come to my office after lunch," he said. Then he released her and walked away.
She couldn't do anything for a moment. She was terrified and furious. Then
she heard a small sound and looked around, frightened that someone had seen what had happened.
Suzanne was standing behind the saddle racks. She had seen the whole thing. As a senior apprentice, she should have been next to move up to rider. Her face red with hatred, she walked toward Is as if she might strike her. Instead, she brushed by and spat on Is's chest.
Is wanted to scream after her. "I don't want him! You can have him! I hate him!" But she didn't. It would not matter. Suzanne would hate her anyway, maybe even more because the Riding Master was chasing her when she wasn't trying to attract him. No matter what Is did, the other kids would hate her.
Is did not go to the Riding Master after lunch. She wondered how much trouble she was getting herself into, but she didn't go.
The next day she was standing at the sink in the tack room washing a bit when the Riding Master
came in. He walked right up to her. Pretending to reach around her for the towel, he leaned his whole body against her, pushing his hips against her backside and pinning her to the sink. She couldn't get away from him.
"Today," he whispered, his lips practically touching her ear. His breath blew her hair, and she felt the heat of the air he expelled against her check. Then he walked away.
Is stayed at the sink, head down, pretending to wash the bit. There were at least three other apprentices in the room. When she couldn't stay at the sink any longer, she moved to the table and began reassembling the bridle. She kept her eyes down.
This time it was Elsa, Suzanne's friend. She swaggered past Is's workstation and knocked a can of leather conditioner over, spilling it on the tack Is had just cleaned.
"Oops," she said.
Is was too slow to stop the catastrophe. She would have to clean up the mess and reclean the bridle. She would probably be in trouble for wasting the oil. She didn't care. Maybe it would take all of her lunch break to get the bridle back to perfect condition.
The next day was the worst because it was the most public. Is led one of the horses to the ring for his rider and as she turned to leave, the Riding Master came by on a horse he was training. Just as she was certain the horse was going to pass without stopping, the Riding Master vaulted from its back, landing right beside her. His whip came down with a whack on the rail in front of her, and his body blocked her on the other side. She was trapped.
"Why didn't you come to my office?" he boomed.
There was no escape.
"Why?"
"I had extra cleaning. I didn't get done," Is mumbled quickly. All the riders were looking. Even the apprentices back in the stalls would hear his voice.
He took his time, considering her reply, while the tension built unbearably for Is. Everyone was looking at them. The Riding Master had absolute authority in the manege, but Is had hoped that some fear of higher authority in the system would help keep him in check. Although some instructors were known for advancing students through sexual favors, it was not supposed to be done. But if he dared to humiliate her this openly, Is saw no chance of appealing to higher authority.
"Are you slow?" he asked.
Is didn't know how to respond. He tapped the whip, bringing it down with solid whacks on the railing, waiting with exaggerated impatience for her answer.
"Well?" he demanded in his Riding Master's voice, which could be heard throughout the arena and the entire stable area.
"Do you think you can ignore what I tell you to do?"
"No, sir," Is whispered. "I hadn't finished my work. I couldn't…."
"You are slow," he bellowed. "Don't you realize you must be very quick to be a good rider?"
"Yes, sir." Her voice was tiny in his presence. At least he was making the situation seem like an infraction of the rules rather than what it had been – a refusal of his sexual advances.
"If you do not like it here," he said, changing tack abruptly, "I do not think you belong here."
Is's heart nearly stopped. No! He could not throw her out of the Equestrian. She could not survive without her horses. She had no other friends, no other reason for living. Her eyes leapt to his, pleading. She must stay with the horses. She saw a cruel grin lift his upper lip and knew it was too late.
"We have no use for you here." He waited long enough to see what she would do. Plead for another chance, cry, promise to do anything he wanted, but she was too stunned to make any of those “proper” responses. He turned away and remounted his horse. He would ride away and her life would be over. She was furious that one man could hold such power over her. It didn't enter her mind that she could change what was about to happen. "Pack," he said over his shoulder. "You will go to the Berserker's Barn."
Under any other circumstances, Is would have been terrified by his decision. But at that moment it was a reprieve. She didn't care about the rumors. People got killed at the Berserker's Barn. The stallions were impossible to handle. The berserkers, who were being trained to ride there, were dangerous beyond description. She didn't care. She would get to stay with horses.
. . . Escaping from her memories, Is discovered that she had warmed up enough to stop shivering, but she could not relax. The man's body was solid against her back. Any moment he might make a move and Is didn’t know what she would do. Even in his weak condition he was stronger than she, and she had seen him when he was not in control of himself. He had not harmed her, but she knew he could. It would probably be best not to fight him. If he was a thief, he was a very good one to have gotten away with such a fine horse and equipment. If she pleased him, he might be willing to help her hide. Or, maybe if he was a high government official he could break rules for her if she got in his favor. Maybe she could even return to the Alliance and not be in trouble at all.
But to her heart, none of that mattered. Whatever she might think she should do to improve her position, there was only one decision her body would accept. She thought carefully about where she had left her knife and how quickly she could reach it.
But the man didn't move, and finally the warmth did its work and Is relaxed too.
She woke to a feeling of peace like none she had known since she was a little girl. She had turned in her sleep and was curled into the man's chest, and both his arms were wrapped around her. She lifted her head to find him looking at her. His eyes held a peace so deep . . . it could not be rational.
Suddenly Is wanted to cry. He was some sort of crazy person. The peace and security she felt sleeping in his arms were as false as the security her mommy and daddy had offered. Worse. They had at least been stable, rational people trying to give her love and a home. It was not their fault the events of the world were too big for them to protect her against. It was not their fault they had been killed. But it had taught Is the truth of the world. No one could protect you.
She sat up quickly, before her thoughts could carry her into old grief. The man didn't make any move to restrain her as she got out of his bag and struggled into her crusty clothes. When she looked back at him, there were tears on his face. Silently, and unexpectedly, he was crying.
Is could not bear to look at him. Whatever pain he was feeling, she would never understand it, as he would never understand her pain. She jerked heze away and went out before he could start doing something crazy again.
The wind had stopped. The crystalline air was very cold. The mountains were breathtaking in fresh snow, impossibly white against a sharp, blue sky. Their stunning presence calmed Is. A winter bird trilled in the stillness and the sound seemed to go into her very bones. Her breath momentarily fogged the scene as she exhaled. She loved this land in a way she loved nothing else. It would be here always. It had a permanence that nothing else had, except death. When she died, that permanence would be hers. She was part of the chain.
The horses had moved down the slope and pawed the snow looking for something to eat. Lark had a layer of white on his wide rump. He seemed content. The mare was hunched against the cold, her belly drawn up and her tail clamped down. She looked miserable. The best thing for her would be to get moving. She'd warm up with activity, and if they got below the snow line there would be grass and water.
The man came out of the tent and Is went to help him pack it up. She avoided meeting his eyes and he seemed only interested in getting under way again.