him and sniffed then, contented, bit at a clump of grass and started grazing.
Rain awakened him. He coughed a couple drops from his throat and sat up. He couldn't see Kerry. He shuffled over to a clump of trees and huddled under his cloak. When he could whistle he did. Kerry snorted nearby. He walked over to her where she sat. He lay down, half beside half on her, and wept. The tears ran out and sleep came again.
Morning dawned cool and clear. He woke, stumbled down the valley until the mud led him to a small creek. They both drank. He inspected her all over and noted nothing amiss but some swelling in her left foreleg.
“How'd you do it, girl? Run down a slope that steep?” He petted her nose. Her eyes flicked at him but she made no answer. “Well, wish I could let you eat all day but we need to move on. Get back to mother.” His voice cracked. He silently mounted her. He hadn't thought of having to tell his mother what happened. His own grief seemed as nothing: sympathy for hers hit him as no fist of Riley's ever could.
He pointed Kerry towards the south end of the valley and then let her pick her own path. A couple stops for grass and sleep and water was all that hindered them: they saw no sign of the others. Orion was hungry, but had neither the patience nor the tools to turn aside after game.
Two more days passed as they weaved their way home. Soon it was familiar territory. Orion remembered clearings they passed through—the one where he first rode a kardja, the one where Kerry was born and bequeathed to him. The long clear summer twilight, the deep icy star-studded nights of winter, life with a profusion of playful kardja racing, grazing, kids playing around him. He missed his mother and couldn't wait to see her again.
He imagined her kissing his wound and making it disappear like she always did. This time there was no kiss big enough.
Another day's travel brought him home. As night was falling with thighs sore from a long day's ride, and Kerry favoring her left foreleg, they arrived at the cabin. Terror smote him. As if a bolt of lightning had struck, the scene was forever seared into his mind. The cabin, dark, no smoke rising, with the door standing on one hinge, open. His mothers cupboards broken in a heap in the front yard. And next to the cabin, in a gently sloped mound, the grave.
In the cool of the early morning Orion traipsed through the woods, Kerry left behind to rest. His thoughts were too confusing to sort—the night had lasted too long. Desperation to get away from the whirling, circling re-living of recent events made sleep impossible. Even now, it was all he could do to make one foot step in front of another.
He tripped on a branch and fell hard into the ground. He lay there for a moment, the vortex of pain tearing at his brain. Gritting his teeth he rose on all fours like a kardja then stood upright. Willing himself to think of nothing but his steps. The tree in front. The path below.
He didn't know where he was going. Gravity, or habit, perhaps, led him downhill and the trail proved irresistible. He had never gone to Darach without a reason before. Perhaps there was a reason: however, he knew it not.
A mop of bright red hair entered his blurry vision at Darach. “Orion! There you are! You look awful.” Enda's voice arrested him. He stopped walking and just looked at her. The brown eyebrows he always found strange for being darker than her hair. The open mouth, a thin ridge of red encircling it. The eyes.
Her darning had dropped, forgotten, on the ground in front of her. She ran and hugged him. “I'm so sorry.”
Orion stood there, leaning on her as one leans on a fence post. He felt nothing. Then, slowly, her chest started heaving against him. Her breath quivered then she began to sob into his shoulder. His arms found their way around her back and clasped her to himself. Her tears prompted his and together they stood, rocking back and forth in a daze. Their
Rain awakened him. He coughed a couple drops from his throat and sat up. He couldn't see Kerry. He shuffled over to a clump of trees and huddled under his cloak. When he could whistle he did. Kerry snorted nearby. He walked over to her where she sat. He lay down, half beside half on her, and wept. The tears ran out and sleep came again.
Morning dawned cool and clear. He woke, stumbled down the valley until the mud led him to a small creek. They both drank. He inspected her all over and noted nothing amiss but some swelling in her left foreleg.
“How'd you do it, girl? Run down a slope that steep?” He petted her nose. Her eyes flicked at him but she made no answer. “Well, wish I could let you eat all day but we need to move on. Get back to mother.” His voice cracked. He silently mounted her. He hadn't thought of having to tell his mother what happened. His own grief seemed as nothing: sympathy for hers hit him as no fist of Riley's ever could.
He pointed Kerry towards the south end of the valley and then let her pick her own path. A couple stops for grass and sleep and water was all that hindered them: they saw no sign of the others. Orion was hungry, but had neither the patience nor the tools to turn aside after game.
Two more days passed as they weaved their way home. Soon it was familiar territory. Orion remembered clearings they passed through—the one where he first rode a kardja, the one where Kerry was born and bequeathed to him. The long clear summer twilight, the deep icy star-studded nights of winter, life with a profusion of playful kardja racing, grazing, kids playing around him. He missed his mother and couldn't wait to see her again.
He imagined her kissing his wound and making it disappear like she always did. This time there was no kiss big enough.
Another day's travel brought him home. As night was falling with thighs sore from a long day's ride, and Kerry favoring her left foreleg, they arrived at the cabin. Terror smote him. As if a bolt of lightning had struck, the scene was forever seared into his mind. The cabin, dark, no smoke rising, with the door standing on one hinge, open. His mothers cupboards broken in a heap in the front yard. And next to the cabin, in a gently sloped mound, the grave.
In the cool of the early morning Orion traipsed through the woods, Kerry left behind to rest. His thoughts were too confusing to sort—the night had lasted too long. Desperation to get away from the whirling, circling re-living of recent events made sleep impossible. Even now, it was all he could do to make one foot step in front of another.
He tripped on a branch and fell hard into the ground. He lay there for a moment, the vortex of pain tearing at his brain. Gritting his teeth he rose on all fours like a kardja then stood upright. Willing himself to think of nothing but his steps. The tree in front. The path below.
He didn't know where he was going. Gravity, or habit, perhaps, led him downhill and the trail proved irresistible. He had never gone to Darach without a reason before. Perhaps there was a reason: however, he knew it not.
A mop of bright red hair entered his blurry vision at Darach. “Orion! There you are! You look awful.” Enda's voice arrested him. He stopped walking and just looked at her. The brown eyebrows he always found strange for being darker than her hair. The open mouth, a thin ridge of red encircling it. The eyes.
Her darning had dropped, forgotten, on the ground in front of her. She ran and hugged him. “I'm so sorry.”
Orion stood there, leaning on her as one leans on a fence post. He felt nothing. Then, slowly, her chest started heaving against him. Her breath quivered then she began to sob into his shoulder. His arms found their way around her back and clasped her to himself. Her tears prompted his and together they stood, rocking back and forth in a daze. Their
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