Baylee: A Novel– Part Eleven: A Strange Lot

Author’s Note: Apologies, this was written late in the week and very rushed, so it’s not my best piece of work *hides*. I hope y’all still enjoy it.

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The Sky-Eyed man was not at all what I expected.

He repeated his shuffling exercise several times over the next few days. Then he dared to come closer, never going too far to make me bolt away. Always leaving before I could chase him off.

He rubbed me with things. Sticks. Prickly branches that smelled like home. He found the places I itched and scratched the dead hair off my back. Never touching me with his hands, only poles that smelled natural.

I fought and ran at first, but then the scratching began to feel good. Without other horses to share scratches with, there were itchy spots on my back I could not reach.

The whole time, he kept repeating the same broken phrase in my tongue– “I’m not going to hurt you. You can trust me.”

Trust a humano? The concept was bizarre. How on earth could I trust the very creatures who’d hunted my kind over and over?

And yet he kept asking. Patiently. Kindly. Asking me to be a part of his strange little herd.

But every time, I refused. I stepped away, shut him out. And when my heart began to consider, I remembered Sombre. He was my herd. I did not need humanos to take his place. 

I always watched the sessions with the group humanos, partially because I was bored, partially because I thought I might learn a way to escape. I could never understand what the point of it was. There were only enough horses for each humano to have one, and they always did something different. And all of the humanos, except for the Sky-Eyed man, wore the same, shapeless clothes. He led them like a herd stallion, giving orders that they had to fulfill. And at the same time every day, except for one day when they did not come at all, they were herded like horses onto a black box on wheels, taken away to another place. Where they went, I did not know, and no other horse knew the answer.

The second week I was in the corral, another horse was put with me– a small pinto mare with one sky-eye who called herself Delilah. It was clearly a humano-given name, but she was born among them, so I had no other to call her by. She was small– even smaller than me, despite being seven winters my senior– and had a pleasant, nasally voice that reminded me a bit of the burros who used to graze with my herd. She claimed to be a mix of mustang and miniature burro, a mule, and that alone gave me great respect for her. It was considered good luck to have a mule foal born in a herd, as they had an innate sense for warning the herd of coyotes and lobos.

Delilah seemed to be a special favorite among the strange humanos– every time a new one was brought, they were put in a pen with her, learning how to handle the snakes and straps and all the other trappings they adorned the horses with.

“How do you put up with it?” I asked after she came back from a rather ridiculous session. I could tell by the way she pinned her ears and switched her tail that even she was a tad annoyed with the idiotic creature handling her.

“I’ve learned, I suppose.” She shook her floppy ears. “Robert always says I’m doing them a lot of good, and he always seems pleased when I am quiet and patient with them. I get more scratching and sweets afterward if I’m quiet, and no scratching or sweets if I kick or make a fuss. Not much of a science there.”

“But why not break away and run free?” I pressed. “There are plenty of mustang herds nearby who’d be more than happy to accept you, even if you are baja like me.”

“Because I am happy here. I know nothing else. The humanos…” She trailed off, whisking her tails several times and staring off at the distance. “El Creador said they were to be our caretakers. These people actually understand that command. They are kind, they feed me well, and I know what is expected of me. I have a purpose here.” She watched me for a minute. “You too have a purpose, Potranca. It is the same as mine. We are here to help the broken ones–” Here she pointed to the humanos in shapeless clothing– “heal, and learn to be gentle again.”

“But why?” I snorted. “Why can’t we just live our lives free, and the humanos live theirs as they are? Why must it be up to us to help them?”

“We cannot explain why El Creador puts us where we are.” Delilah said. “Only that He makes His plans known in His own time.”

“I have heard that over and over.” I snapped. “I am tired of waiting. I want to go home, instead of being stuck here waiting for El Creador to explain Himself.”

“Have you ever considered that El Creador wants you here?” Delilah asked, her voice raising to a low whinny. “Life is not always about what you want, Potranca.”

I wanted to argue more, but the Sky-Eyed man came back and took Delilah away, leaving me to chew on her words.

Thus was the sort of days that filled my life– until the arrival of Andrew.

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