Heart and Soul

Chapter 10

Paloma and I eventually slowed to a trot, then a walk, as exhaustion set in. We walked across foothills, plains, and valleys. Then, after several days of travel, we found a pond. We drank thirstily, grateful for our first drink in days.

As Paloma rolled and I grazed nearby we spotted specks in the distance. They were moving slowly, but towards us. I watched it cautiously, unsure if it posed a threat or not. A few hours later while Paloma dozed I could finally make out what the specks were: horses. A massive herd was moving towards us.

I nudged Paloma until she woke up and together we watched as the herd approached. A bay mare trotted up to us, a small black foal sticking to her side. She introduced herself as Donaire, a Spanish word, as she later told us, meaning grace. She introduced us to her filly, Cuervo, translated to Raven, and her mate: Vencejo, meaning Swift.

She told us she was jafe, or head of this herd. She also told us we were welcome to join in her heavily accented, lilting tongue. So long as we respected her we were welcome in these lands.

A young mare, Mariposa, meaning butterfly, took it upon herself to tell us all about these lands and her herd. She told us they were Mustangs, a word derived from the Spanish 'mustango', meaning owner-less beast.

She said she was proud of her heritage, and shared with us that her ancestors had been traversing these mountains and valleys for a longer than any horse could remember.

When Paloma inquired about her age she stated that she was seventeen moons. The young mare must have seen the confusion in our eyes for she laughed, and pointed us towards an ancient looking stallion. His teeth formed a sharp angle that jutted from his mouth and his hips and ribs were painfully obvious. She told us his name was Sol, and he was oldest and wisest horse in the mountains.

Sol told us he was three hundred and sixty moons, then went on to explain that a moon was roughly a month. He shared that he too, was from the humans, but he was a Mustang, unlike us. We stood out sorely among the rough looking equines, we were at least a hand taller than a tallest one, Vancejo, but he only laughed about it.

We fit in nicely and the mares assigned us as babysitters, we had eight charges the first year, four colts and six fillies: Viento, meaning wind, Aqua, translating to water. Valiente, or Brave, Fuerte, meaning Strong, Justo, meaning fair, Bonita, or beautiful, and Primavera, translating to Spring.

All the foals lived up to their names, Viento, a chestnut, was the fastest colt, Aqua was a gorgeous blue roan filly who reminded me strongly of Blue. Valiente, a dun, was the bravest little colt, he would often break from the group and make one of us go after him and bring him back by force. Fuerte, a black coated colt, loved to spar and he would challenge us everyday. He never won, but he got a kick out of it all the same.

Justo, a bay colt, acted as a referee during games and never made a bad call. Bonita was a striking Palomino and she took great pride in her appearance. Primavera, or Vera as she liked to be called, was a beautiful buckskin who's voice was as sweet as the trickle of water, she loved to sing.

Paloma and I often took the foals on small trips and taught them about the rocks and bugs and plants. We told stories and spent long nights together under the stars. We watched as they grew up, and the colts left to start their own herds and the fillies went on to run with the herd.

Paloma and I also had foals, Paloma had a black filly she named Luna and I had a roan colt named Río. They grew up together and became as close as brother and sister.

Paloma and I had become close a well, we were inseparable. All the traces of the humans had left us, I forgot the feeling of the saddle, the feeling of loving hands stroking my mane. All I knew now was the feeling of the dirt on my back and the wind in my mane.

But it always lingered in the back of my mind that this was nice, but it was not where I belonged. I loved the sound of my hooves on the solid ground, loved the freedom, but I knew I had more to do then run with my herd. There was someone who needed me, someone who I needed, but I had no idea who it was.

When Río grew up and struck out on his own I helped Paloma raise Luna, and when Luna left with another colt Paloma and I went back to baby sitting.

One morning, about three years after we joined this wild herd, we heard a loud, continuous, roar.  Donair and Vancejo started the entire herd running away from the thing in the sky , which wouldn't back off. Sol was the first to go, he just collapsed.

Over the thirty minute course of that flat out gallop we lost a lot of good horses, but Paloma and I hung on. By the time the flying monster drove us down that chute my heart was fit to burst. Breathing hard Paloma and I came down to a stop side by side, then I saw a man closing the gate.

Summoning energy from deep down I charged forward and, knocking down the man, towards freedom. I was free again. I turned around whinnied for Paloma. She raised her head and started to gallop, then she prepared to fling herself for the opening.

But the man jumped up and slammed the gate closed. Paloma slid to a stop, then reared up and whinnied for me. I whinnied back, but men for coming for me. I called to her one last time, then wheeled around and ran for the hills.

I never saw Paloma again.