The Trail to Love and Loss

Patrick

Patrick carried the girl back to his cabin. She sure was stubborn and he was still surprised about the kiss earlier, but he couldn't just let her sit outside and freeze. He brought her back inside and set her down on a chair near the fire. She shuddered and huddled closer. Patrick brought her some oatmeal and a piece of warm bread. She ate hungrily and thanked him in her strange language. Patrick nodded and left her alone while he went to tend to the horses. Inside the stable, the girl's horse stood with its filly. Patrick rubbed them both down and threw the blankets onto their backs. Then, he threw them some fresh hay and poured cool water into their trough.

When he turned to head back inside, he found Daya standing there. She walked over to her horses and stroked the filly. It nuzzled her softly and she hugged the horse around the neck. It bent its head down and Daya whispered something in the horse's big ear. When she pulled away, the horse seemed to nod. Patrick rubbed his eyes. It seemed as if the horse had actually understood Daya! Patrick shook his head. Surely that couldn't be real. He decided that it was just a figment of his imagination. He turned, and left the girl to her horses.

Daya was charming, but mysterious. She was intriguing and he wanted to find out more about her. He decided to go back to her hut. He considered leaving her a note, but decided against it. She could barely speak English, let alone read it.

Patrick grabbed his gun from the house and headed into the woods. He slowly searched until he found the cleverly hidden hut. He circled it once, making note of everything from the tightly sealed cracks filled with mud, to the apparent pattern of the wood used in constructing the building. He explored the inside of the hut and the horses' lean-to. They were surprisingly warm and cozy.

Patrick started as a twig snapped behind him. Clutching his gun tightly, he slowly spun around on his heels to face the intruder.

Daya stood before him, frowning slightly with no emotion showing on her face. Her brow furrowed further when she noticed something sticking out from under her bed. She approached it slowly. Patrick stepped out of her way. She bent down and reached under the bed. She pulled out a small doll and tears brimmed in her eyes. She hugged it tightly and reached under farther. She pulled out a worn saddlebag and sifted through its contents. She pulled out the hunting knife which she slipped into her pocket, purposely showing it to Patrick and making sure he knew his trust was doubted. She also pulled out paint. This she dipped her fingers into and left the building.

Daya walked to the nearby stream and slowly painted intricate designs on her face. The fiery red wound its way around her left eye in a swirl and the orange made three vertical stripes on her right cheek. The yellow paint mirrored the orange on her left cheek. She drew two rolling waves under her right eye. Then, dipping the last four fingers of her right hand into all the colors, she painted one line of each color in a complete circle around her neck.

Patrick tilted his head in interest as he watched her decorating her skin with the patterns and colors. Daya looked at him.

"They show mourning," she said, before melting awayinto the woods. Patrick called out her name and tried to follow her, but to noavail. She was gone, so was her saddlebag of belongings. With nothing left todo, Patrick trudged back to his cabin, knowing the horses would be gone by thetime he got there.