reared up in the ruins of it, pawing at the sky as if to crack the one thing that had yet to be broken.
I wandered closer as if in a trance – too close; right beneath the arch of his great pawing hooves, where sea water rained down from his fetlocks and coursed through my hair, down my face, over my body. I tasted salt and rosewater and dew, and reveled in it like the first rain after a drought.
For me, it was the first rain after a drought. A drought of reality, of a world run by people, of talk of war and conquest where the only rain that fell splattered to the ground in the form of scarlet drops of blood.
Seven –
W hen the euphoria ended, so then did my love affair with sleep. The end of the dreams marked the beginning of my day, and I was out on the arena fence by dawn.
The horses were ambling about, restless in their new home. Quietly, I hummed a tune to them, and they perked their ears to listen. The aimless notes drifted through channels of stirred-up dust, tickling through the hairs that made the horses' ears warm and fuzzy on the inside. They came to surround me, going from listless beasts to giant teddy bears in my presence. I held my hands out to them, and they lifted their muzzles to me, reading my palms with their whiskers. They lifted their heads higher still, using their lips to play with my hair, snuffing and whuffling the secrets of my future into my ears. It was a future of midnight, bareback rides, of taming wild mustangs, of breezing Thoroughbreds down tracks of cookie-cutter aerated turf.
At first, I thought it was part of my fantasy when a parade of zebras materialized out of the twilight dust and began to amble by the arena, jockeys in colorful riding gear perched upon their backs. But then I remembered the Lieutenant telling me of their presence here, and I watched in a rare, real-life fascination.
My friend horses broke from their new-found ease to regard the line of smaller creatures, breath flaring through their nostrils as they sought to identify these striped imposters. Reminded that they were different creatures, in the equine family but clearly regarded with an amount of unfamiliar suspicion, I couldn't help but wonder if I could likewise whisper to zebras.
I hopped down from the fence to follow them, curious about their morning workout. They only rounded one corner of the arena, though, and then another. They were now going back the way they had come, and were picking up a trot. The enclosed horses trotted after them, growing playful from the unexpected stimulation. When the zebras broke into a canter and curved around another rounded corner of the enclosure, I realized what they were doing. They were running laps, merely by using the outside of the fence as their guide, since the inside was occupied. And didn't race tracks have that inner rail as well? I reminded myself.
I climbed back atop the fence to allow for their path, tucking my feet onto the inside of the corral to keep out of the way. By the time they reached me the jockeys had given them their heads for a full gallop, and the miniature herd thundered – trundled? – past my perch.
They went twice around the arena, a forest of little sapling legs churning up dust. This seemed to be the wake-up call for the rest of the camp, and military personnel began to appear out of their tents. Commotion picked up like a train leaving the station; slowly, at first, with a few grunts and groans, and then faster and smoother as it went. Soon it was blazing along the routine tracks, making its rounds.
Jay emerged with the sun, from my tent where he had spent the night on the cold, hard ground. It wasn't an arrangement altogether removed from camping across the Shardscape, though, and that thought made me feel less guilty for kicking him out of his roost.
He strode along the line of tents, headed for the barns. Ready for a day's work, already, where I was still daydreaming on the fence. But I suppose he knew his place well
I wandered closer as if in a trance – too close; right beneath the arch of his great pawing hooves, where sea water rained down from his fetlocks and coursed through my hair, down my face, over my body. I tasted salt and rosewater and dew, and reveled in it like the first rain after a drought.
For me, it was the first rain after a drought. A drought of reality, of a world run by people, of talk of war and conquest where the only rain that fell splattered to the ground in the form of scarlet drops of blood.
Seven –
W hen the euphoria ended, so then did my love affair with sleep. The end of the dreams marked the beginning of my day, and I was out on the arena fence by dawn.
The horses were ambling about, restless in their new home. Quietly, I hummed a tune to them, and they perked their ears to listen. The aimless notes drifted through channels of stirred-up dust, tickling through the hairs that made the horses' ears warm and fuzzy on the inside. They came to surround me, going from listless beasts to giant teddy bears in my presence. I held my hands out to them, and they lifted their muzzles to me, reading my palms with their whiskers. They lifted their heads higher still, using their lips to play with my hair, snuffing and whuffling the secrets of my future into my ears. It was a future of midnight, bareback rides, of taming wild mustangs, of breezing Thoroughbreds down tracks of cookie-cutter aerated turf.
At first, I thought it was part of my fantasy when a parade of zebras materialized out of the twilight dust and began to amble by the arena, jockeys in colorful riding gear perched upon their backs. But then I remembered the Lieutenant telling me of their presence here, and I watched in a rare, real-life fascination.
My friend horses broke from their new-found ease to regard the line of smaller creatures, breath flaring through their nostrils as they sought to identify these striped imposters. Reminded that they were different creatures, in the equine family but clearly regarded with an amount of unfamiliar suspicion, I couldn't help but wonder if I could likewise whisper to zebras.
I hopped down from the fence to follow them, curious about their morning workout. They only rounded one corner of the arena, though, and then another. They were now going back the way they had come, and were picking up a trot. The enclosed horses trotted after them, growing playful from the unexpected stimulation. When the zebras broke into a canter and curved around another rounded corner of the enclosure, I realized what they were doing. They were running laps, merely by using the outside of the fence as their guide, since the inside was occupied. And didn't race tracks have that inner rail as well? I reminded myself.
I climbed back atop the fence to allow for their path, tucking my feet onto the inside of the corral to keep out of the way. By the time they reached me the jockeys had given them their heads for a full gallop, and the miniature herd thundered – trundled? – past my perch.
They went twice around the arena, a forest of little sapling legs churning up dust. This seemed to be the wake-up call for the rest of the camp, and military personnel began to appear out of their tents. Commotion picked up like a train leaving the station; slowly, at first, with a few grunts and groans, and then faster and smoother as it went. Soon it was blazing along the routine tracks, making its rounds.
Jay emerged with the sun, from my tent where he had spent the night on the cold, hard ground. It wasn't an arrangement altogether removed from camping across the Shardscape, though, and that thought made me feel less guilty for kicking him out of his roost.
He strode along the line of tents, headed for the barns. Ready for a day's work, already, where I was still daydreaming on the fence. But I suppose he knew his place well
Similar Books
