by Paula Boer
The other grey stallion walked closer. “I’m Blackfoot of Flowering Valley, Head of Warriors. We’re organising a hog hunt. That’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”
Streak bobbed his head. “Good. Meanwhile, stay away from my mares. I need to think about this warning. I suspected something wasn’t right from the birds migrating early.”
Yuma wiped the sweat from his face, and retied his hair after straightening the tangles from galloping in the wind. Would he ever see the black stallion again? Not that he could complain—riding here had been the thrill of his life. But when they’d neared the approaches to Bloomsvale, the horse made it clear the time had come for them to part. And unlike the previous encounters, the stallions here welcomed him rather than chase him away. This must have been his destination all along.
Yuma wished him well, concerned the wolf wounds hadn’t healed sufficiently to remain untended. He’d hoped to ask the Bloomsvale healers for stronger liniments. Now there was little point. He should probably have left the horse when they reached the small river that ran from Oaktown, but going this far out of his way meant he could catch up with friends while he replenished his stores and conducted a bit of trading.
Settling his pack on his shoulders, he headed towards the rolling pastures of rippling hay, the sweet scent of mowing drifting from where men worked to build stacks to feed the herd through winter.
He strode up to a man tying bundles and stacking them to dry. “Don’t tell me you’re working, Chaytan Strong!”
The stocky man turned around, his mouth open and eyebrows raised. After a brief pause he opened his arms wide. “Yuma Squirrel! I thought you must be dead, or you ran away to join the Westlanders. We missed you at the gathering.”
The two men hugged with much back slapping. Yuma peeled away and held his friend at arm’s length. “Dead of boredom, perhaps. Father insisted I stay behind and care for the old and sick until he returned.”
“You’ve managed to escape, then? Have you come to entice away our young women?” Grinning, Chaytan scooped up another armful of hay and twisted strands to hold them together.
After dropping his pack to the ground, Yuma helped with the work. “That’s what father thinks, but unless any new families have arrived since last year, I doubt there’ll be anyone to attract me.”
Giving a short laugh, Chaytan continued to work. “No, no new families. And when did only one young woman satisfy you? A dozen maybe!”
Yuma cocked his head. “Who said they have to be young? Give me an experienced woman any day.”
The men continued their banter as they worked along the windrow, the sun warming them as much as their labours. Yuma enjoyed the fragrance of drying grass and trampled clover along with the conversation. Mice and lizards scurried away as he stacked the feed, amazing him as always with how much life the rich meadows sustained.
As they completed the row, Chaytan called a break. “I’ve bread and dripping under the old oak. I even have a skin of ale. Let’s celebrate your health.”
Other workers joined them in the shade, all of them greeting Yuma with the same surprise though not always the same welcome.
Chaytan squatted and tucked into his meal. “You must have left Waterfalls before your father returned from the gathering. It’s too soon for you to have arrived here so quickly otherwise. Did you meet him on the way?”
Yuma swigged from the bladderflask before answering. “He was home long before I left. I came here on the back of a horse, much faster than travelling on foot.”
A guffaw erupted from one of the men. “In your dreams, Waterfalls man. We know the bachelors from other territories will be visiting soon. If you did arrive with a horse, no doubt you encountered one and happened to arrive at the same time. You might charm the women with your fantasies, but don’t try them on us.”
Not even Chaytan gave any credit to the tale. “Steady on, Jolon, I’m sure Yuma is only being funny. We know he can charm animals with his music, but he doesn’t really expect us to believe he can convince a horse to carry him.” He turned back to Yuma. “What’s really behind this trip of yours? Perhaps you’re after some bumblebee nectar to heal an elder? You’ll be out of luck I’m afraid. It was all traded at the gathering.”
Although it had occurred to Yuma people might find it strange he had ridden a horse, as a trusted trader he hadn’t expected outright disbelief. “No, it’s true. I did ride here on a magnificent black stallion. We separated earlier. I saw him meet your herd’s lead stallion, the grey, who was with a bunch of bachelors.”
Jolon Fist grunted. “I’m not listening to this nonsense. There’s hay to be gathered.” He rose and left, the other men with him.
Chaytan stayed and ate another mouthful of bread. “We need more meat. Aponi asked one of the fillies this morning. That grey horse will let us know when they’re ready.”
Delighted he had arrived in time for a hunt, Yuma hoped the black stallion would remain. What drove a young horse to travel so far from his territory? No matter what Jolon and his followers thought, the stallion acted as if he was on a mission other than looking for mares.
Yuma shielded his eyes with one hand and scanned the nearby copses for birch or hickory trees. “Most of my arrows are for small game. I’ve plenty of flint tips but only a few suitable shafts for hogs. I had to use one on a wolf. That’s how I came to meet the horse. I was heading to Oaktown in the hope Eastlanders still lingered, but before we reached the village, the herd stallion chased us off.”
He told Chaytan how he came to rescue the stallion. “After he saved my life in the river, we just kept going. Then he encouraged me to mount. I wouldn’t have thought to get on if he hadn’t signalled me.”
“No, you’d be more likely to end up trampled. Do you think he’ll let any of us sit on him?”
Yuma recoiled. It hadn’t occurred to him other men might want to try. The notion of someone else straddling his beauty made his blood surge. He considered the horse his. Of course that was stupid. No one could own a horse. Still, he’d be disappointed if the stallion permitted other people on his back. “I don’t know what he’ll allow. He might not even let me on him again. Perhaps he’s come to barter for mares. I don’t even know if he’ll stay. He’s been pushing hard to get wherever he’s going.”
Having finished their lunch, they returned to work. Yuma continued to help for the rest of the day. As he wandered back to the central hut, an enticing aroma of cooking hog and roots drifted on the breeze. Children ran and played around the clearing, their chores of gathering mushrooms, berries, and firewood done.
After greeting the remainder of the Bloomsvale clan, Yuma enjoyed the meal, the fatty hog meat a tasty change from the small game he’d been catching. He thanked his hosts by playing his pipe and telling stories while the women sat and braided twine and men worked leather. The glowing coals of the fire darkened. A young woman, her raven hair hanging in braids to her waist, placed a few more sticks on the embers. Sparks reflected in her green eyes as she turned away from the flames curling around the fuel.
As she met his eyes, he recognised her. He’d met Jolon’s daughter on previous visits. She was a loner and rarely said more than a few words. “Thanks, Laila, my fingers were getting numb.”
With a nod of acknowledgement, the slim figure retreated to the back of the hut and sat near her father and two young men. So she hadn’t been given her second name yet. After her womanhood ceremony she would sit with the unpartnered women. Yuma’s glance swung to her brothers. Neither of them smiled or looked across the fire towards him. The last time he’d seen the boys, Bly and Delsin, they had been playing at hunting. In the intervening years Bly had grown tall, his body heavy like his father’s. Delsin’s lean face gazed with pale blue eyes into nothingness, his bowed legs stuck out awkwardly in front of him. Yuma liked the boy though feared for him; Jolon could be an overbearing and unforgiving paren
t.
Before Yuma could ponder further, the children at his feet begged him to retell the tale of riding a horse, their eyes as big as full moons. He obliged, following on with his tell-tale mimicry of birdsong and animal calls, meeting all his audience’s demands for encores. Sleep had his eyelids in its claws well before he unfurled his bedroll.
Yuma awoke to the sounds of people stirring around him. Someone snapped twigs to reawaken the fire. A woman clattered pottery as she added dry leaves to cups.
A man coughed near his ear. “You’d better get up. Your horse is outside.”
Covering his mouth with his hand, Yuma yawned. “What?”
Chaytan toed his friend’s elbow. “Wake up, sleepy head. It’s the hog hunt today, remember?
Yuma stretched his legs as he kicked off his furs. “I didn’t think we were heading out until after sunup.”
“We aren’t. It’ll be awhile before the hogs reach the killing grounds. But that horse you’ve been talking about is here. I’ve never seen one like it.”
Fully awake now, Yuma scrambled to his feet and tidied away his bedding. He shook his head to clear his mind of last night’s ale. It was unusual for him to have slept in the communal shelter like most visitors. In the past there had always been a woman willing to invite him to her hut. As memories of the previous evening returned, he recalled the wariness of the clan. At the same time as showing fascination with his stories of the horse, their disbelief made them draw away.
That was their problem. He didn’t care what they thought.
After tying his hair in a hunter’s braid, Yuma slung his quiver over his shoulder. He didn’t feel dressed without his bow and arrows, never knowing when he might spring a hare or porcupine. He wandered out to the clearing. Most of the clan was up and about, keeping a wary distance from where the black stallion pawed at the ground nearby. “Good morning, my beauty. I didn’t expect you to come to the village.”
Approaching the horse with his hand outstretched, Yuma took in the horse’s appearance. The wounds on his rump had started to heal. His coat glistened with vigour. As Yuma ran his hands down each leg, the horse lifted his hoof. Yuma flicked a stone out of one before standing upright and stroking the horse’s neck. “Are you going to hunt with the others?”
Stamping his near fore, the stallion tossed his head before nudging Yuma, the sign he wanted him to mount. Yuma grabbed a twist of mane and leapt to the horse’s back.
Gleeful children ran over, waving their arms and shouting in excitement.
The stallion spun on his hindquarters and bolted.
Yuma hung on. He hadn’t expected such a swift departure. Not knowing what the horse had in store, he let the wind freshen his crusty eyes and clear his head. Had he been right to mount up? If the horse was leaving, he didn’t have his pack, nor had he said goodbye. Should he try to slide off? The stallion hadn’t slowed. He looked down. The ground blurred, dashing away further thought of that option. He clung tight, hoping the horse was only heading to the hunt.
The lead stallion congregated with the mare herd at the opposite end of the valley, keeping the youngsters close by. They wouldn’t take part in the hunt. The bachelor herd waited near a copse of trees. As his mount approached them, the stallions ceased grazing and gathered. The black stallion slowed to a halt a short distance from the others. A striking grey with one blue eye stood apart.
Yuma sat still, not daring to disrupt whatever was going on, keen for this rare chance to be close to the aloof males of the herd.
A couple of horses snorted as they looked his way before backing up and turning their tails. The grey stallion approached and eyed him. Taking a step closer, he swapped breath with the black stallion, their foreheads together and nostrils flared.
Were they conversing?
Some accord appeared to have been reached. The mob turned as one and headed through the trees, fanning out wide. Yuma’s stallion remained a short distance behind the other horses. They trotted along well-used trails, moss and leaf mould muffling their tread. Startled birds flitted among the branches, twittering a warning.
Yuma’s stomach rumbled. “If I’d known we were leaving I would’ve grabbed some breakfast. You’ve probably been eating all night, my beauty. Still, I wouldn’t miss this for a chunk of bread.”
The bachelors stayed parallel an equal distance from each other, making more noise once in position. Yuma had known the horses drove the hogs out of the forest, but hadn’t realised they were so organised. Although he had participated in many hog hunts over the years, he had waited with the men at the killing grounds to shoot arrows as the beasts raced towards them.
Sudden squeals identified a family of startled hogs. They scampered ahead with their tails in the air, dodging this way and that as they fled through the trees. An old sow with a large litter of hoglets tried to retreat between the stallions. Two converged on her with snaking necks, teeth bared and heads lowered. The hog scrambled in the soft ground before fleeing along with the rest. One hoglet stood transfixed by the mayhem. A small bay horse came down on it with both forefeet, killing the animal before returning to the chase.
Yuma used his knees to stay mounted as he fought branches off his face. If he ducked underneath, he lost his balance and his legs threatened to tip him off. With both hands busy, he was unable to hang on to the mane. “Steady there, my beauty, I’ll get dragged off.”
His heart thudded. In the excitement he lost sight of the other horses. Bushes snapped and hogs squealed. The stallion picked up speed as the trees thinned. Coming out into the open, Yuma recognised they had travelled in a large loop and were now headed back towards the village. Hogs raced ahead as they cantered up to the bachelor mob.
They had almost reached the rocky gorge of the Bloomsvale killing ground. What should he do? The horses would stop in order not to be harmed by the flying arrows. However, he was expected to help with the kill. After all, he would be eating his share over the coming moons if he decided to stay. With no way of dismounting without injuring himself, Yuma worried his desire to ride would have a negative effect on the clan. Rather than making him a worthy lifemate, he would be shirking his responsibilities.
He couldn’t help that. Let the elders think what they would. The thrill of this horse outweighed his duty to find a suitable partner. Tonight he could at least tell tales of how the horses rounded up the hogs and drove them, a feat no-one had witnessed before to his knowledge.
The bachelor mob slowed and veered away to seek water. The horse beneath him dropped to a walk. Squeals from ahead told Yuma the slaughter had begun. Most of the hogs would run free. Hopefully, a plentiful kill would put the clan in a good enough mood to forgive his absence. He could return to the village to help with the skinning and butchering, but women usually did that and they might think he was interfering.
Before he could decide what to do, two hogs raced back the way they had come, running close to his mount. The horse took chase. Yuma had no choice except to stay aboard as the stallion attempted to turn the hogs. He had no chance alone—the wiry hogs darted all over the place. Accustomed to the erratic movement from dodging in the trees, Yuma risked freeing his hands to retrieve his bow. He extracted an arrow and took aim. The horse galloped alongside a small boar. Yuma let fly. Although the weapon had only a small flint, the close range meant the point penetrated the neck, felling the beast.
The horse raced after the second hog, clods of grass and earth flying from his hooves. Again Yuma aimed and shot close, the animal falling on its side, dead, the arrow erect from the base of its skull. With no more hogs to chase, the stallion puffed to a halt and tore up mouthfuls of grass.
Yuma slid to the ground and patted the slick neck. “At least I can’t be scolded for not doing my bit.”
The hogs weighed half as much as a man, if not more. Yuma retrieved his arrow from the nearest one. Now what? The smell of blood from the k
illing grounds would attract the crows and foxes. If he dragged the beast he would damage the hide and bruise the flesh. If he left it, scavengers might find it before he could return with help. Besides, everybody would be busy.
Yuma considered butchering and lugging the best parts on his own. A low whicker distracted him. “No, my beauty. I can’t leave these hogs to waste.”
The horse nudged him hard.
Yuma scratched his head. “Would you carry them?”
The stallion continued to stare at him. Deciding it was worth a try, Yuma dragged the nearest carcass to the horse’s side. He didn’t move. Encouraged, Yuma lifted the front legs to the horse’s shoulder. Although his breathing quickened, he remained motionless. Taking great care not to spook him, Yuma hefted the hog onto the stallion’s back.
The horse trembled, his neck muscles tight. He bent his head to the burden on his back and snorted at the blood running down his sides.
“There, my beauty, steady there.” Yuma walked towards the other dead hog. The horse followed, his breath warm on Yuma’s neck. When they reached the second body, he again hefted the corpse onto the horse’s back.
Amazed the horse would carry such a load, Yuma offered him handfuls of clover. Soft lips teased the treat from his fingers. He gathered more and fed it to the stallion as he headed back towards the village. By the time he reached the central hut, the women were cleaning the first hogs brought in from the killing grounds.
Children saw them coming and rushed out to greet them. At the approach of the screaming youngsters, the stallion bucked, dumping the hogs from his back before bolting.
Chapter 5
Fleet’s instinct at the noise and flailing limbs drove him to flee. He galloped with rolled eyes and flared nostrils. Dried blood crusted his sides. As he reached a safer distance, he dropped to a trot and veered towards two fillies on the hillside.
Both turned to stare.
The black one greeted him with a trembling whicker. “Are you lost? The hog trap is at the other end of the valley.”