BOOK EXCERPT
SHE WHO RIDES HORSES BY SARAH V. BARNES
Reprinted with permission from the author
96
THE PLAID HORSE
NAYA ROSE TO HER FEET , blue eyes intent on the horizon. It didn’t matter that she might be seen—the herd was too far away to take flight. She could just make out their individual shapes, moving slowly, partially obscured by the tall waving grasses. A small dun-colored stallion and four dun-colored mares foraged, making gradual progress in a westerly direction toward a low line of hills. Three of the mares were accompanied by foals, all of them born several moons earlier, just after the steppe winds changed to the south and the weather warmed. The fourth mare was shadowed by a two-year old filly. Looking into the setting sun, the horses were hard for the girl to distinguish against the pale gold of the drying grasses. All except the filly. Her red-gold coat, lit by the sun’s last rays, stood out like a flame against the browns and yellows of
December 2023/January 2024
the surrounding landscape. Naya reached up to rub a lock of her own coarse hair between thumb and finger. It was almost exactly the same startling shade of copper as the filly. Turning to go back the way she had come, the girl cast one last glance at the disappearing herd. Tomorrow she would be back, with a rope… To everyone else in Naya’s world, wild horses represented a valuable resource, providing her people with meat, bones, hide, and sinew. More abundant than the bison, deer and saiga antelope who also roamed the vast grasslands, they were the hunters’ preferred quarry, easier to herd into confined spaces where they made prime targets for the hunters’ spears. But Naya had a different thought, a desire that came from deep within the center of her being. She wanted to touch the red filly. She wanted to run her hands through the unusual coat, so similar to her own head of flaming hair – and she wanted to do this thing with the consent of the warm and breathing animal, not just handle a lifeless pelt… It was long after noon the next day before Naya was at last able to slip away. This time she was better prepared. In a deer skin bag slung over one shoulder she carried flint tools and kindling for making fire, a flint knife and enough food to last a day, as well as a full water skin. Over the other shoulder was coiled a long length of braided rawhide, strong enough, she hoped, to restrain the filly… She found the little band at dusk, when the sun’s afterglow cast blackening shadows across the landscape. She had just gained the top of a small rise and could see for some distance, despite the gathering darkness. There they were – blurred shapes silhouetted against the next range of hills. Succeeding ridges gained in height, verdant meadows giving way to forested slopes, behind which the sun had disappeared. The horses had led her to the edge of the grasslands… Naya shivered in the rapidly cooling air. The horses appeared to have stopped for the evening. The mares’ heads hung low, muzzles almost touching the ground in deep relaxation and she could make out several darker shapes that must be the foals, lying in the grass at their feet. Only the stallion stood alert, scenting the air for danger before dropping his head to grab a few mouthfuls of grass. Moments later, his head lifted again, keen eyes scanning the landscape. PHOTO: DAVID BARNES
