Baylee, A Novel– Chapter Two: Sombre

Sombre was the son of the lead mare, Ciela. I’m still not sure why he chose to protect me, why I seemed to matter.

But I did. And he saved me.

I didn’t form much of a bond with my mother. She let me nurse, but whether through some premature grief that she knew I wouldn’t survive, or some other foreign conviction, she did not talk with me. I learned everything from Sombre that I needed to survive.

Spring faded into the summer. I weaned early, and then spent all of my time with Sombre. Hot summer days were spent in the shade standing nose to tail, whisking the flies from each others faces. Nights were spent grazing, watching for predators and gazing at the stars above.

Sombre never gave me a name– even as a rebellious colt, it was too much against tradition. If I survived to marehood and he took me as his own, I could be Named. But until then, I was Nameless. It was the way of our kind.

Sombre taught me much, the first of which was running. I had short legs, which meant that I had to be fast, fast enough to keep up with the herd.

I hated it. He would have me race across fields with him, run until my lungs burned and my hooves ached, and then he would keep me running, pushing me harder until I was gasping to breathe.

“¿Por qué me obligas a hacer esto? Why do you make me do this?” I demanded of him one hot day. I stepped into the creek, letting the cold water run over my sore hooves.

He looked at me critically, then glanced back at the herd, standing in the shade of the sprawling desert trees. “No creen que seas lo suficientemente fuerte. They don’t think you’re strong enough.”

“¿Y estás de acuerdo con ellos? And you agree with them?” I snorted.

His blue eyes were serious. “No. Estoy tratando de ayudarte a demostrar que están equivocados. No. I’m trying to help you prove them wrong.”

I never complained again after that. He was right– the running and training was to help prove them wrong. It was an instinct to run, to be fast enough.

I wouldn’t give my herd a reason to abandon me.

When we would run, those were my real tests.

The herd would sometimes go without running for days. Other times we’d always be on the move, only stopping briefly for rest.

I’m not sure which I prefer.

I remember my first big run. It was when I was seven months old, and the grass was crisp with heat. Buzz-Moon, I remember, titled for the buzzing noises the little creatures in the grass always made.

I was standing in the shade with Sombre when my sire stiffened. Aguila stuck his nose into the wind, inhaling deeply, before his eyes opened, white rimmed with alarm.

In the east, a dust storm stirred.

I blinked the remnants of my siesta from my eyes, nerves electric with anxiety, but also confused. Aguila had never before become alarmed by dust storms. Not like this.

“Run.” The word was whispered in the hot wind as the mares woke up, the silent alarm passing through the herd like a snake. Ears pricked, necks began to glisten with sweat. Anticipation hung heavy in the air.

“Qué pasa? What is going on?” I whispered to Sombre.

He was stiff as the tree’s trunk, eyes trained on the dust storm. “Peligro. Danger.”

I didn’t quite understand. There was no Coyoted-smell or Danger-Smell in the air. I stepped from the shade, ears trained on the horizon.

I heard the buzzing. Like the storm-light that falls from the clouds during rain, two gleaming birds appeared from the dust storm. Wingless birds.

The herd ran. Sombre nipped my flank, and I was broken from my hypnotized curiosity.

My entire being screamed at me to run.

My short legs struggled, and my lungs burned. Sombre could have been at the front, but he galloped behind, neck and neck with Aguila. I trailed behind, keeping in pace only with the youngest of foals.

Arena y piedras, sand and stones! I gasped for breath, the wingless birds getting all the closer no matter how fast we ran. I was not familiar with this danger. Why now would these strange predators attack?

“Sin luna! Sin luna!” Aguila shouted to Ciela, his voice coarse from breathing in the red dust we stirred up. What did it mean? Was it some sort of code?

The mares in front of me banked, towards a box canyon. Suddenly, I understood.

Following the horse in front of me, I found myself in darkness. If it weren’t for the shuffling of hooves and heavy breathes, I would have assumed myself to be alone.

The light adjusted. I saw my herd members. Sombre pressed close to me, his light eyes a flicker of sky in the blackness.

For several tail swishes, everything was silent. Even the young foals kept close to their mothers, eyes wide.

The buzzing and dust swirled, so thick and loud I was sure that we were found. But as soon as it arrived, it disappeared. In seven breathes, the buzzing and dust faded.

Still, no one spoke. We were all still alarmed, as if we’d just run through wasp’s nests and we were still waiting to be stung.

Finally, one daring foal asked the question that I didn’t dare speak– “¿Cuáles eran esas cosas? What were those things?”

The mares glanced at each other gravely.

“Esos son los pájaros sin alas. Hacen las órdenes de los humanos. Those are the Wingless Birds. They do the bidding of the humans.” My mother said.

Humanos. The word whispers around the foals.

A young colt nudges my mother’s shoulder. “¿Qué hacen los humanos? What do the humans do?”

“¿Nos comen? Do they eat us?” A filly asked.

“No. Hacen algo mucho peor. They do something much worse.” In the darkness, Aguila looks like a dozen moons bunched together in the black of night.

I finally found my voice. “¿Qué hacen? What do they do?” I whisper.

His gaze is directed at the foals, but Aguila’s words pain me like a kick to the chest.

“Nos esclavizan. They enslave us.”

And that was my first introduction to the humans.