Paint the Wind by Pam Muñoz Ryan Page A

old campsite we used years ago, but it was a little too far from the river. We use the trailer for storage now.”
    They rounded a curve. Moose stopped the truck in the middle of the road. “Maya, look over there,” he said, pointing out his window. “That’s Aunt Vi’s remuda. Ever heard that word? It means her group of horses. She chooses a mount from the group every day, alternating horses so one doesn’t get too worn out or sore, especially if she’s riding long distances.”
    Maya strained to look out. To the left, a large portable corral held five horses. In a connecting pen, one horse stood alone. In front of the corrals, a grass field stretched out with a worn dirt track.
    Golly whined. Uncle Fig opened the passenger door so she could run ahead.
    â€œCome on,” said Moose. “Let’s get out and say hello.”
    Maya hurried from the truck and ran to the corral,gripping the sidebars. Mesmerized, she watched as the horses lumbered almost in slow motion, their regal heads much bigger than she had ever imagined, and their bodies massive and sobering. Tails swished at flies. Manes tossed and muscles twitched. Nostrils quivered as they snuffled and blew. Enormous eyes watched her, unconcerned. One horse rolled on the ground, legs in the air, rocking back and forth and causing a dust cloud. Another horse did the same, as if the first had given him the idea.
    Maya smiled. They rolled in the dirt to keep flies off of them. From all of her visits to the library she had memorized a myriad of facts about horses. But all of the pictures in all of the books didn’t compare to seeing them up close. Her eyes widened and she dared not blink for fear the vision before her would disappear.
    Moose came up behind her and pointed at threebrown horses with black manes. “Those three are Russell, Catlin, and Homer. Their red-brown color is called ‘bay.’ ”
    â€œI know,” said Maya.
    â€œAnd Audubon is that light tan horse over there.” Moose pointed to a horse taking a drink from a large trough. “Know what his color is called?”
    â€œHe’s a dun.” She pointed to the large gray. “And that’s Seltzer, the blue roan. But he’s not exactly blue. He’s black and white all mixed together to look like he has a gray-blue tint. Did you know that the horse has the biggest eyeball of any land mammal?”
    â€œWell, you sure know your horses,” said Moose.
    â€œI’ve only seen them in books. They’re so much more … breathtaking in person.” Maya pointed to the horse separated from the rest. “And that’s a sorrel, right?”
    Moose nodded. “A standard sorrel because everything’s orange: coat, mane, and tail. That’s Wilson, the horse Payton rides. I’m not sure why he’s all by his lonesome. We’ll have to ask Aunt Vi. Come on now. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know the horses later. We’d better get to camp before she comes looking for us.”
    Reluctant to leave, Maya finally pulled away. In the truck, she knelt on the seat and looked out the back window. She could see her mother out here, hanging on the corral or sitting in the truck with Moose and Fig. She tried to imagine her father, too, but it was difficult to think of him anywhere but on Grandmother’s arm and wearing a suit. Had he felt as she felt now? Amazed that there was a place so wide open?
    When the horses disappeared from view, Maya turned around to see the camp spreading before her. Avalley rested between a rocky mountain ridge and the coiling Sweetwater River, its banks caped in dense willows. Maya spied the tepees, like five little party hats scattered on a distant table of grass. As the truck edged closer, Maya saw two four-walled tents, side by side, their front flaps tied open. One was filled with cooking supplies: a larder of canned goods, wooden shelves crowded with pots,