by Ron Rayborne
Tom attempted to carve them, shaving long strands off with his knife, but it was crude. He tried the soaking method again, weighting them with rocks in a stream, and again it helped to soften the material. When it was soft enough, he carved it into a shoe shape, curving it around, then tying the two sides together at the top with some string. The string he wove through holes he carefully punched with his scissors. Socks he wore aided in preventing skin to shoe slippage and thus blisters. Then, after drying them in the hot sun while still on his feet, he tried them out. They worked tolerably, and he justifiably felt a certain pride in his craftsmanship.
“Well,” he said to Little, lifting a foot and turning it around for her benefit, “What do you think?” She sniffed at it, then seemed to shrug her shoulders as if to say, “What do you need those things for?” and with that, ambled off to something more interesting. Tom harrumphed. Now having alternative footwear, he wrapped them in a cloth and tied them to his backpack. He’d use those he had on until they were too worn to keep.
Like a meandering river, the weeks and months drifted by, and Tom lost all track of time. Just the same, he became an astute student of all he saw. They followed cliff birds to their homes massed in caves, carvings and overhangs in the crags and bluffs. Wandered mysterious paths that wound in and out of eerie shadows, full of enigmatic secrets. Took side trips to explore endings and beginnings. Rivers, canyons, pasturelands, highlands, escarpments and lowlands. Always, though, he was conscious of his Southward calling. Some places tempted awfully, begging for exploration, but, regarding them from grand overlooks, he demurred if he could see that their peregrinations would take them too far out of the way. Even so, interspersed with the more straightforward regions, were numerous setbacks and reversals when they’d come to an impassable section, or high precipice, and were compelled to find a way round. All told, these diversions cost the pair a lot of time.
In an empty riverbed, Tom, roaming through an area where one summer dried watercourse joined their own, heard a plaintive cry up the other and decided to check it out. The ground here was parched and cracked, and yet Tom got a feeling, an indefinable sense, that all was not as it seemed here. Something — deceptive.
The bleat came again, louder now. Little ran ahead to see, and intercept if necessary, but Tom, on a hunch, called her back. She’s a fine companion, he thought, and now obeys me without argument. Coming around a bend in the waterless river, he soon realized the mistake he’d made. While the surface was indeed cracked and dry, below it the ground was saturated. It could have fooled anyone. His steps sank just a bit; a moment later, he was in up to his knees. Any further and he may never get out. Quicksand. Ahead of them was an antelope, a Cosoryx. It was caught and had sunk to its chest. Twelve feet away were two canines of the Tomarctus clan. They were standing at the bottom of a sandy bank just outside the hazard area, pacing, trying to think of a way into the mud and to their next meal. Seeing Little though, they both lit up the side. At the top, they turned again to see if they were being pursued.
Tom tried backing up, but the mud held his legs tight. He thought he might lose his shoes in the suction. With much exertion, though, he did get loose and now stood considering the situation. Evidently, the Toms had been pursuing the hapless antelope, which, in its flight, had jumped clear of the bank upon which they now stood, and landed, unfortunately, in the quicksand.
The Cosoryx continued its pitiful bleating. Its voice somewhat stifled, a gasping rasp between cries was now audible. The weight of the mud was pressing against its chest, making it hard to breathe. In another hour it would be dead from suffocation — if the Toms didn’t get to it first. Should he shoot it and put it out of its misery? No. He decided to rescue the poor lope instead.
Across the dry channel, on the other side, was a big rock. Retrieving his rope, Tom tied one end firmly around it and walked back to the edge of the hazard. He made Little lie down, then removed his shoes, and, with no small amount of fear, he slogged in. Little did as she was told, but clearly was not happy about it. When he was again at knee depth in the muck and heading toward the frightened Cosoryx, she stood back up and walked to the edge of the quicksand.
“NO!” Tom commanded. “SIT!” So she sat — and whined. Tom pulled on the rope to assure himself of its security and continued in. When the sludge was mid-way up his thighs, he was no longer able to move. In fact, he too was sinking. But he was seven feet from the Cosoryx. He needed to get the rope around it. Tom tossed the line and it slapped the antelope against the side of its face. It bleated, then made pathetic feints toward Tom with its head, trying weakly to ward him off.
“Sorry, my friend,” Tom apologized. No, he couldn’t get the rope to swing all the way around the animal’s head and back to him. He needed to make a loop and get it over its antlers. So, slowly sinking, Tom made a circle with the rope and tied it with a square knot. Then he tossed and re-tossed. It took him fourteen tries before it fell around both antlers.
Above his waist now, Tom shouted “YES!” Now he had to get himself out. He wrapped the boulder side of the rope around his wrists and pulled. A flash of panic shot through him when he found that he couldn’t free himself with just that gambit, so, after a moment’s thought, he bent at the waist and lay upon his front, then straining on the rope, began to pull one, then the other, leg upwards. He wanted get level on top of the mire. Instinctively, he knew that if he did this he should be able to extract himself, crawl on, and out. It was easier in concept than practice, but after a couple of minutes, he was clear and hauling himself across. At the other side, he stood, covered head to toe in mud. Little greeted him by jumping up, almost knocking him back into it.
None too sure that he’d be able to do it, Tom now gently drew the rope taut, then braced himself and began to tug and pull. At first the Cosoryx resisted and pulled back, but then it changed course and put its flagging energies into trying to extricate itself. With great effort, it jerked up and flailed. Tom pulled harder now. In a minute, it was mostly out.
It continued its wrenching, but fatigued itself quickly, breathing hard, tongue lolling to one side. Tom pulled again and dragged the antelope further. When finally it was free, but lying on the ground, Little came around for an inspection while he removed the tie. She sniffed at it, but seemed to understand that this was not going to be food. She sat on her haunches and stared, mouth in a wide grin. The poor Cosoryx, seeing the Aelurodon so close, lay still, ears flat against its neck, and barely moved. Like Tom, it was gray-brown with muck.
“Are you alright now?” Tom asked. He looked up to see the two Toms still pacing at the top of the bank. He knew that, sure as the sunrise, soon as he and Little left, those two would be after the Cosoryx again. But he did not just risk everything for nothing, so he shouted at them to be off. Failing that, he threw rocks. Finally, he sent Little out after them. She made a strange yowling noise at his command, then ran at the bank they were on. The Toms jumped in alarm and back. Little dashed up a narrow slope and after them. Tom knew that she hadn’t much chance of catching them, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He only wanted them gone long enough to allow the Cosoryx time to recover and be on her own way.
Minutes passed, after which, perceiving that she was no longer in mortal danger, the diminutive Barstovian deer stood. She allowed Tom to reach out and scratch her ears. “Now don’t go falling into anymore quicksand, little one,” Tom admonished. “Okay?” With shaky, halting steps, the Cosoryx turned and tiptoed away. It climbed a gentle slope on the other side, turning for a last look, before passing from sight. In the meantime, Little had reappeared and now stood on the same bank-top the Toms were at just before, and watched her go. She was puffing and too tired for a chase anyway.
Tom felt good; he’d done a good deed. Climbing out of the dry riverbed, he walked to a shaded grouping of trees, and in a pool of water, washed out his clothing, hung them up to dry, then lay down for a rest.
And thus, on they went, while the days blurred togethe
r, marvelous suns, magical moons, and Tom felt that he was becoming a part of this land, a part of this time. In truth, he was already half-feral. He knew the animals now by sight, by their call. Knew which plants were edible and which to avoid. Knew the best times to travel and when to stay put. Tom had learned empirically what others learned only through years of study in books.
Like tallgrass in the breeze, he was moving with Opal’s rhythms. And with each sunrise, the future seemed more and more remote, increasingly unreal as, one by one, the angers and hates, the fears and worries, the pains and regrets — the hallmarks of man — were dissolving away.
For a certainty, there would be more hazards, yet Tom was adapting. Adapting his mind. Adapting his heart. He was changing to meet the earth, not the other way around. Wildness was not far behind.
A raven sounded above. Tom looked up and sun fell on his face, in his eyes. He shielded them, caught the edge of wings as they glided by. The land was drying now, getting hotter. On the plain, a dust devil wound up and spirited away, dancing lightly over the ground. Half a mile beyond was steep, oak covered mountain. At its margin, where it met flatland, a river curved. Within those trees, all manner of fauna abode in precarious truce, panting or sleeping out the hot afternoon. Tom and Little walked along the waterway, in and out of the sun.
O Land, O Earth, O Sea, O Skies, how beautiful you are to my eyes.
Chapter 29
The Hypohippus had continued to make a recovery, and though jittery, seemed to be stabilizing, both physically and emotionally. Its lameness and limp became less pronounced with each passing day. In the meantime, Julie did what she could to make sure he ate and drank, daily bringing armloads of grass and water. The latter she poured into a sedimentary depression on a boulder nearby from which the Hypo drank. She also continued to bring some of the purple star fruit and enjoyed the excitement of her Hypo and the Paras when she returned. His clan still several days south, back at the other meadow, he’d taken to the Paras and they to him. They were his new clan. Yet, though a stallion, she knew that he would never lead a herd of Parapliohippus. Perhaps if others of his species came along. But for now, they were absent here.
She and the Hypo were spending a lot of time together. He grazing nearby, always keeping her within sight, while she sat on the grass in the shade under a tree, writing or sketching in her notebooks and journal.
Julie also spent a considerable time investigating, cleaning and outfitting the cave, beginning with enlarging the entrance. And she swam. She knew she should be going, instead, to meet that blue dot, but something in her told her to stay. He would come to her. As long as she continued to remain in contact with the caller, he would find her. In any case, she was safer here than exposed. In keeping with that, though, she’d later decide upon a new tactic. Rather than immediately respond to the signals, then quickly switching off, which could still ultimately lead Jaqzen to her hideout, once a week she would hike to some place miles away, then send out her own call and wait for blue’s reply, hastily switching off afterwards. That way Jaqzen would not know her whereabouts precisely. Eventually, as the other drew close, she would have to find a way to meet him, potentially a big risk, for the same signal that gave the blue dot her location would also be supplying Jaqzen with it.
On her journeys she always brought along her notebook and recording devices. There was so much to see and do! It was a shock and happy surprise for her when, having completed her first exploratory trek in days previous, as she was strolling away again to a new destination, she turned at a sound, and found that her Hypo was following her. She waited for him, and he came to her, his limp all but gone, and nuzzled her hand. She dug out one of the fruits and gave it to him, which he ate gratefully. Then he pushed at her pack from which the stuff seemed to magically come. Julie laughed and got another, feeding it to him. She scratched his neck and the Hypo sniffed at her face, her hair, her body. While she was recording those things around her, he was recording Julie, lodging her deep in his brain, in his heart. Friend.
Julie looked at his three-toed hooves. They had regrown since his big run. He could walk. Wondering what would happen, she turned to continue on her path. Today, she was going out ten miles to the northwest — something she wanted to see. Her Hypo continued to follow, at first walking behind, then beside her. It felt good to have a friend along for the trip.
Though mostly hidden, Julie had spied the high peak of a distant volcano above the trees, with a wisp of smoke issuing from its top. The Conejo Volcano, she suspected. Just off the coast, its elevation rivaled that of the haughtiest Sierran mountain. It stood at the fore of the Transverse Ranges, a block of mountains that had once oriented North and South like other California cordillera, but which then began rotating clockwise, caught as it was between two oppositely moving land masses. By the Anthropocene, it would have spun 90º from its original bearing.
“I should name you,” Julie said, gazing at her horse. “Let me think about it.”
Every now and then, Julie stopped and allowed the Hypo to graze. At these locations she’d find a place to sit and watch him. Watched how he interacted with his environment. He was certainly a beautiful animal; coat sleek and clean, striping wild and distinctive, tail un-matted, mane long and flowing. And he was a good-sized beast too, over a quarter ton of solid muscle, and very alert, constantly lifting his head to check for danger. Julie sketched him. Under that she wrote:
Hypohippus. A beautiful and noble beast.
The walking seemed to be actually helping the Hypo, and when next she looked, he was no longer limping. When they got to a wide open area, another, vaguely bowl-shaped grassland with knolls and hummocks, dunes, banks, dips, ridges and knobs, the place seemed to inspire the Hypo and he began to run. He ran up, then back. There is nothing as fast as I, he seemed to be saying, and indeed he was fleet. Coming back to Julie, he pawed at the ground. Seemed to want her to run with him. As she had her pack on, running was not an option. So she jogged. It was awkward and riled up the Hypo, who nickered and galloped by her, throwing dirt on her legs. Again he was inspirited, and ran to her, which caused her some alarm, then, turning his side, pressed against her and pawed at the ground.
“What do you want, boy?” Julie asked. The Hypo whinnied. It was the first time he’d done so. A lovely tenor. Julie cracked a smile to one side of her face, then she squinted at her Hypo. “Do you want me to ride you? Is that what you’re saying?” she asked. The horse went again to her side, pushing her roughly with his. Then he stood there. “I don’t think I can do that,” she said. “For one thing, you’re too small. For another, I’ve been on a horse but once in my life, and I was seven at the time and the horse a pony. My father walked beside me and we went round and round in a circle.” Julie remembered the pity her father felt for the ponies. What a life. Not a life for a horse. Still, he wanted her to have the experience. By the time she’d grown, horses were gone, eaten along with so many other non-human species when food became scarce.
The Hypo whinnied and pawed the ground again. Is there just some instinctive connection between horses and people? she wondered. He truly appears to want me to get on his back. But how can he know?
“Okay,” Julie said, “I’ll give it a try if you promise not to kill me.” She backed away and set her pack on the ground, then walked to his side. Now, how was she going to get up? Julie put her hands on his back while the Hypo stood very still, watching her. She pulled herself higher, then back down again. A few more times of that, and she was up, lying perpendicularly across the horse’s back. Still no movement. After a minute of this, he impatiently nipped at her butt.
“Ouch!” she said, “That hurt.” Apparently, she was taking too long. Now, quite nervous, she slowly raised herself up and swung a leg around. She was sitting afore his stomach and behind his front legs. The Hypo, evidently none the worse for the extra weight, turned his head to look forward. Then he began to walk. Almost at once, Julie started to slide to one side. She was falling off.
“Whoa!” she said. The Hypo stopped. She raised her eyebrows, then without thinking too much about it, scooted herself back atop the horse. “Let’s try that again,” she muttered to herself. Again the horse stood motionless, head regarding her. Now she tried to hold on with her legs while also holding onto his mane. Again, he walked. Really, it was more of a trot, which she thought of as a proud strut. She bounced on her “seat.” Though only half the size of a modern horse, this was a powerful animal, and she could be injured. Julie gulped. Then his speed began to increase. His rider was alarmed, but afraid to speak, instead emitting a series of “whoas,” little “yeows” and muffled shrieks. When he thought that she had the hang of it, the Hypo began to run. Now Julie did yell. She held on with tight fists to his long mane.
They were flying now, hot wind in her face. Julie was in a near panic, but she did not fall. It seemed that each potentially dangerous mistake on her part was countered by an opposing move on the Hypo’s that saved her from going down. Still, it was mostly a straight line. This went on for minutes. After a while, she began to get a better balance. When she thought that they had gone too far from her pack, she began to pull on her Hypo’s mane. She tugged and leaned to the left. In response, the horse made a slow circuit back in that direction. Then he was running again. When they were closing on the spot where her pack lay, Julie pulled back once more while saying, “Whoa.” She remembered reading that that was how you stopped a running horse. And it worked, for the Hypo slowed to a trot back to their starting point, finally halting a few feet away. But he pawed the ground. He wanted to go again. Heart thudding, but more confident, Julie shook her head, then said, “Okay, let’s go!” and off they went.