Wild Horses in Winter
New
icomeanon6
That's "I come anon 6"
- Location
- northern Virginia
- Pronouns
- masculine
Author's Notes:
I wrote this story for a Secret-Santa-type fic exchange back in December of 2017, the recipient and prompt-giver being Thousand Roads's very own @Negrek. Now that I'm on Thousand Roads as well and Christmas approaches, it felt like a good time to give it a once-over and repost it. For those who are curious, here's the original prompt:
Content Warnings: Brief language, blood, alcohol. Not recommended for readers under the age of 13.
A frigid gust blew over the plain, picking up a fine powder of snow along with it. The wind was Canadian, but this was Dakota Territory, just barely. Hal stuck his mittened hands into his armpits. It helped a little, but it drew a roll of the eyes from his big sister.
“If this is getting to you already, we can try again next year.”
Hal shook his head vigorously, which was a good excuse to shiver. “I’m fine.”
“Quit lagging behind, then.”
It was easy for Rachel to say, considering how much longer her legs were. Hal was nine years old (and seven months, don’t you forget it), but she had another ten years on top of that. Moreover, the bundle of blankets he had to carry on his back wasn’t exactly light, so it seemed especially unfair to expect him to match her pace. On they walked, but Hal stuck out his tongue at her while she wasn’t looking.
He pulled his tongue back in when he noticed Shungmanitu’s ears perk up. You couldn’t slip anything past a monster, especially not one with ears and a nose like a mightyena’s. The black, canine monster even stopped, turned around, and stared at Hal with an eager gleam in her eye and her tongue hanging out, as if to say, “Oh boy! You wanna fight? Huh? Huh? Do you?”
“Don’t tease him, Shung.”
Shungmanitu did as she was told, then jogged ahead of them. Even if she was a natural-born troublemaker, she was still Rachel’s monster and knew how to listen—though Hal understood she used to be much more of a handful. Either way, it certainly spoke to his sister’s know-how when it came to monsters, which was why he couldn’t afford to get on her bad side today; not if he wanted to come home with a monster of his own. He tried harder to keep up.
Rachel pointed at a white spot among other white spots in the distance. “Couple of bushes over there. Come on.”
Hal didn’t know how she could see them. Everything that far off was a blur to him. He wiped the snowflakes out of his eyelashes, but it didn’t help. It was only when they were halfway there that he saw anything. Maybe when he got bigger his eyes would be as good as Rachel’s.
When they got close, Hal was surprised to see very little snow on the bush’s branches. Surrounding it was a big circle where the snow was only an inch thick, and he could even see some of the crushed yellow grass sticking out.
Rachel sighed and shook her head. “That close.” She walked up and inspected the bush’s green, thorny leaves all the same. “Yup, it’s burnberry, but we can’t use it. It’s already picked clean. Ponyta’s been here, no doubt, so that’s a good sign at least.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘ponytas have been here?’” Rachel was usually the one nagging Hal to talk more proper-like, so he jumped on every chance he could to correct her for a change.
“No, I meant, ‘Ponyta has been here.’ She, not they.”
“How you know it’s a she? Or just one? The tracks are snowed over.”
Rachel came to her feet again and surveyed the endless expanse of white around them. “Might be more than one, sure, but Ponyta’s a girl, just like how Mightyena’s a boy even though Shung’s a girl.”
“Huh?”
“There’s lots of them out there, but they’re all Ponyta. It’s just how the Indians talk about monsters.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Don’t worry about it. Papa used to say it doesn’t really make sense till you’ve shared one of their pipes.” Shungmanitu had started to wander, so Rachel removed a mitten and used her fingers to whistle her back. “We’ll find another one. Let’s keep moving.”
According to Rachel, burnberries were the best way to lure a wild ponyta—rather, to lure Ponyta. It was their—her favorite food in the winter, and Rapidash often melted the snow around the bushes to make their preferred place to sleep. Hal just wished the shrubs weren’t so few and far between out on the prairie. He breathed into his mittens in an attempt to warm his face as they started walking again. It was just past noon now, and it wouldn’t be fun if they hadn’t caught his Ponyta by nightfall.
Two hours had passed. Hal struggled more with each step to dig his feet through the snow, but at least his boots were keeping them dry. Now they were moving south, following the banks of a silent, sleeping river. Mercifully, this meant the wind was at their backs for now. Hal’s nose was beginning to run when Rachel spoke for the first time in a while.
“There’s another one. Our side of the river, too.”
It took Hal a moment to realize she’d said anything. He must have been more tired than he thought.
“Look alive, Cowboy. Bet this is it.”
Hal hated it when she called him that, but it was too much trouble to say anything. He trudged after her until the bush finally came into view. The snow on this one was thicker, so it took him longer to see. There was no sign of a melted circle around—the place was untouched.
Rachel took a squat and gently brushed the snow off the leaves. “Yes! Hal, take a look!”
Among the sharp leaves were some red berries, each about as thick as a thumb. Rachel took off her mittens and felt with care for a good branch. “Get out your flint. It’s time to get to work.” She broke off the branch. It had three berries on it, which drew the hard attention of Shungmanitu’s nose. “Not for you, girl. Unless you get frostbite and we need some.”
Hal set down his bundle of things and dug out his trusty, worn block of flint, along with the thin steel rod. Rachel held out the branch and said, “Go for where the twigs are thickest. It’ll catch the berries after that.”
“I know.” He didn’t add that he was pretty sure he was better at starting fires than she was. Instead, he concentrated on getting his sore fingers to strike the steel with enough force. Soon he had sparks, which in turn soon caught the branch. The smell was almost overpowering, even to Hal’s runny nose. It left a sour, unpleasant taste in his mouth.
Rachel set the burning branch in the snow a few yards upwind of them. Then a gust picked up and Hal expected the flame to go out, but somehow it stayed strong. “…Wow.”
“That’s how you know these things are special. They love fire and know how to hold onto it, cold be damned. Ponyta eats this stuff like candy.”
Hal thought about summer, when the candy-maker’s wagon would roll into town for a week. He hated winter. “How long till a… till Ponyta smells this?”
Rachel put her mittens back on, took out a small spade, and began clearing the snow away from a patch of ground. “Good question. Few hours if we’re lucky. I think we’ll have to light a new one every four.”
Hal shivered. “…Can we start our campfire now, then?”
“Nope. We’re not lighting anything that didn’t come from that bush.”
Hal’s stomach sank. He couldn’t have heard that right. “…Huh?”
“If we lit logs, then the wind would smell like a human fire. It has to smell like Ponyta’s relations found a burnberry bush and set a little of it on fire to let the others know.”
“But… but you brought all that wood in your pack…”
“That’s cause Mother wouldn’t have let you come if I didn’t tell her we’d have a fire.”
Rachel was now sitting on a patch of cleared ground downwind from the flame. She patted the spot next to her, and Hal sat down with some reluctance. It was better than sitting on bare snow, but not by a lot. He wasn’t sure he would have undertaken this expedition if he’d known there wasn’t going to be a proper fire. “Wish we could do this in the spring.”
Rachel chuckled. “And miss this beautiful snow-scape?” She shook her head. “Anyway, winter’s the only time when Ponyta’s not happy with living outdoors and might prefer to take up with people. If we wanted to do this in the spring, you’d have to pick another kind of monster, cause I ain’t going to try physical persuasion on a fire-monster.”
“I don’t want to strongarm my monster.”
“I know, Cowboy.”
Neither of them spoke for a long time. The wind grew more and less tolerable in fits and starts, but the berries stayed lit all the while. Hal bet he was going to have this terrible smell on him for weeks. But then, he realized this was probably the point. All that mattered was Ponyta not getting put off by his smell when she got close, so better to smell like her favorite food. Still, Mother would no doubt have something to say about it when she got a whiff.
“In case you’re wondering,” said Rachel at some point, “Once this smell’s nice and set in our clothes, we’ll put up a lean-to to get out of the wind. I think we’ll be good by the time the sun goes down.”
It was torture waiting for that point to arrive. It felt dozens of needles were pricking the tips of Hal’s fingers. He did everything he could to keep them moving, and told himself the real trouble would be when he couldn’t feel them at all. At length, his toes began to feel as bad as his fingers. Then, out of nowhere, Rachel grabbed his shoulders and rubbed them with obnoxious vigor. He shook her off. The last thing he wanted was for her to start treating him like a baby—though his shoulders did feel better for a minute, there.
All the while, he kept his eyes on the vast expanse for any sign of Ponyta. But there was none. There was only a flat, endless plain of white extending to the horizon.
The clouds on their left were deep red when the sun touched the land. Hal had barely moved an inch and hadn’t said a word since they lit the second branch an hour ago. It only now truly occurred to him: They were going to have to sleep out here in the cold. Even if Ponyta were to show up now, they wouldn’t be able to get back to the farm without him falling asleep on his feet. And now, he had to wonder if he would actually wake up in the morning or just freeze before then.
Rachel stood. “Okay. Think we’re good to get out of the wind now.”
Hal tried to stand as well, but he couldn’t do it right away. His bones creaked like an old chair when he finally came to his feet, and after that he couldn’t manage to do much more than shuffle along slowly, arms crossed over his chest.
“Cheer up,” said Rachel. “This’ll be worth it when Ponyta doesn’t run away at first smell of you.” Rachel took the burning branch and moved it downwind of their snowless patch of ground. “Clear away some more of that snow. Get enough room for us to lie down.”
She handed him her spade. His spirit sank at the thought of bending his knees, much less of moving snow. But he had to do what she said or it would go even worse for him, he knew. He stared at the white stuff and slowly convinced his body to get to work. While he shoveled away, Rachel unrolled the largest part of her pack: a tanned buffalo hide. She was done staking it into the ground at about the same time Hal was done clearing their spot.
Altogether, it was no more than some sticks, skin, rope, and heavy nails, but to Hal it might as well have been a cabin. The hide was large enough that only half of it made up the actual lean-to: the rest served as a floor. Tan-side out, fur-side in. Hal sat down again—rather, collapsed—and for the moment at least it was enough just to be under cover. But it wasn’t long until it became apparent that getting out of the wind wouldn’t be nearly enough to warm him up.
It wasn’t quite dark, but already Hal was starting to nod off. Time passed. At some point, Rachel gave him some jerky and hardtack for “supper.” He tried to dig his teeth into the aged biscuit and immediately regretted it. It was difficult enough to chew the things when you were fully awake, but since Hal was freezing, drowsy, and miserable, it was an honest struggle. It took several swigs of water to get through the whole thing. And it only annoyed him how Shungmanitu got through hers in only a few bites and was now begging for more with her tongue wagging.
Before Hal knew it, the sun was gone. All of the daytime animals and monsters would be going to sleep soon. The day was finished, and they hadn’t seen Ponyta.
“Well,” said Rachel, “Guess we ought to bunker down for the night.”
She gathered up the blankets from their packs, three in all. She laid out one on the hide-floor to make it a little more comfortable to sleep on. The other two she kept together, and she laid down under both.
Hal was in disbelief. Did she think he didn’t need one? “…Where’s mine?”
“Right here. We have to share.” Rachel patted the spot right next to her.
She couldn’t be serious, Hal told himself. He was nine gosh-darned years old and hadn’t slept with anyone since he was three.
“Don’t give me that tough-guy look, mister. We’ve only got so much warm between us, and we can’t waste any of it. You’re not sleeping under just one blanket and that’s final.”
“But—”
“Hal! I am in charge of you out here, and you’ll do what I tell you or you’re going to wake up frostbitten and fingerless or dead! Now get under here!”
For several seconds, Hal did nothing. With as much defiance as he could muster, he weighed his options. If he tried sleeping without a blanket at all, he would probably die. And there was no way he could just take one of the blankets, since Rachel was too strong. And he couldn’t imagine she’d listen to anything he said, either. He was stuck.
He frowned, laid next to Rachel, and made a point to keep his back to her. Then the blankets fell on top of him, and he had to admit it was pretty warm compared to the open air.
“C’mere, Shung. Bedtime.”
“—Oof!”
Hal wished he’d known that Shungmanitu would interpret “bedtime” as “lie down on top of us.” She was heavy, and one of her hind paws was digging into his gut. He had to shift his weight around to get anywhere close to comfortable again. It was warmer this way, though.
Then Rachel put her arm over his shoulder and pulled him in closer, and Hal knew he had to draw some kind of line. He tried to shake himself loose. “Get off.”
“Shut up. You’re shivering.”
Hal screwed his eyes shut and fumed. He really couldn’t stand her sometimes. He just wanted to get to sleep and put this terrible day behind him.
For a while, there was no sound save from the wind outside the lean-to. Then, to Hal’s frustration, Rachel spoke up again. “You know,” she said, “Papa used to say he wished you’d come along sooner. Just so he wouldn’t have to wait so long to get you your monster.”
Hal said nothing. What was he supposed to say? He never knew—not when she talked about Papa.
“Do you remember him at all?”
What kind of a question was that? It was like asking if he remembered first learning about Christmas. He knew what Papa looked like, sort of, and a little of what he sounded like, but that wasn’t the same as remembering any particular day when he was there.
“I’ll never forget when we caught Shung together. It was summer, so we had lots of daylight to work with. You should’ve seen him wrestle her down. She was so quick when she was Poochyena, it was like trying to catch a mouse with only your toes.”
Shungmanitu was already snoring. Hal felt her side move up and down.
“My only job was to get her to take the apricorn powder. Got a few scratches trying, but that was nothing to what she gave Papa. His face was a mess. All had a happy ending, though.”
Hal didn’t like hearing this story. Rachel could never tell him why it didn’t matter that Shungmanitu didn’t want to come with them at first—all she ever said was that it had a “happy ending.” And even if they probably couldn’t get Shungmanitu to leave now if they tried, his still didn’t like it.
“You know,” said Rachel, “this is where you usually call me and Papa monster-bullying tyrants.”
“…I ain’t never said that.”
“Guess it was my imagination.”
Hal heard the wind pick up, but the lean-to held firm. He only felt the cold where his face was exposed to the air. He burrowed deeper under the blanket, but it felt like he was getting less air this way.
“Hey, Hal. Listen. Tomorrow might not feel right for you, when you meet Ponyta. Even though you’re not fighting her, it’ll feel a bit like you’re tricking her, like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Or that it’s the powder calling the shots and not her.”
Hal said nothing.
“Thing is, monsters are like little children. They don’t always choose what’s best for them, cause they can’t think that far ahead. That’s why the luckiest ones are the ones who end up with the right people. They live longer and happier than they do in the wild. They get sick less and grow up smarter and kinder, too. So, it’s not about what you do tomorrow. It’s about how you bring her up from there.
“That’s how Papa always put it, anyway. Keep that in your head when it’s time.”
Hal didn’t know what to think about any of that, but for now he was too tired to try. The only thing on his mind was falling asleep. So eventually, he did.
“Hal, get up.”
Even though it was still darker than lighter, Hal was already awake. He just thought it seemed too hard to act like it. He tried to crack his eyes open, but they wouldn’t move right away. It was like trying to pry a shovel loose that had frozen flat in the mud overnight. When he could finally see, the first thing he noticed was his breath.
Rachel pulled the blankets off. The cold attacked Hal’s body all at once, even through his thick clothes. He heard Shungmanitu running in circles around them and barking—just her usual morning self. Hal’s own morning self was bad enough, but right now he was ten times worse. There was no part of his body, not one joint, he could move without concentrating on it. He started with his arms to prop himself up. Eventually he was on his feet, but he felt rooted to the spot. It felt like if he was going to move at all, it would only be because the wind knocked him over.
“Get out your flint. Time to light a new branch.”
From there, the morning moved only in aching, interminable stretches, and Hal seemed to lose the transitions between them. At some point he got the fire to stick, at some point they ate some more hardtack, at some point he had to pee. The last of these took the longest.
Morning twilight turned to dawn, and dawn to day. The sun helped a little, but the wind picked up as well. Today, at least, he was spared having to sit in it. But that mattered little when his insides felt like ice.
“…and she still won’t let it go. I swear, every night after you go to bed she’s always on me about…”
Hal missed the context of whatever it was Rachel was saying. How did she still have the energy to speak? He lost track of the one-sided conversation just as quickly as he’d become aware of it.
Minutes or hours or weeks later, the sun was halfway through the sky. The thought should have come to him already, but now Hal had to confront the possibility they might not see Ponyta today, either. They wouldn’t sleep out here for another night in a row, surely? That would kill even Rachel, wouldn’t it? Hal would have to say something, anything if it came to that. They had to be home by nightfall, or he didn’t know what would happen.
But he knew what would happen if he said he even might want to quit. Rachel would never take him out here to try again. Ever. He might even have to wait three whole years before he could ever convince her he was in fact ready. So, between this awful knowledge and the biting cold, Hal’s mouth stayed shut tight.
Just then, Rachel nearly jumped out of her skin and snapped him out of his thoughts. “Hal! Look!”
His eyes jolted open. He tried to look, but everything past the little flame on the branch was just white and blue. It stayed white for many long seconds, until finally he caught something to his right. Standing out from the rest was a small blur of orange, taller than it was wide.
Hal’s tongue caught in his throat. He came to his feet as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“This is it!” Rachel quickly knocked down the sticks holding up their lean-to. Hal understood immediately: It mustn’t look like a human encampment from a distance. “I’ll get myself and Shung a good ways away. You take care of it from here! Got your pouch?”
Hal felt around his belt. The pouch of apricorn powder was still there. Not much in it, but he knew what to do with it.
Shungmanitu was bounding all around from the excitement in the air, but she followed Rachel as she led her away up-wind—more so that the mightyena wouldn’t become too aware of Ponyta’s scent than the other way around. The two followed the frozen river north until they looked very small to Hal. And when he looked back, the blur that must be Ponyta had grown larger.
Hal tried to anticipate what would happen when Ponyta came close, and what he would do in response. The first thing he settled on was the need to get her attention in a way that didn’t scare her off. So, he bent down and picked up the burning branch from its place in the snow. He also tossed his mittens to the ground, heedless of how cold his hands were. All he needed was the warmth of the tiny fire to fool himself.
Then he waited. He kept his eyes on the orange blur in the distance, and slowly it began to take shape. The colors separated into the flickering orange mane above and the lighter, paler body below. When he could discern her face and her legs moving at a slow, steady gait, he began to feel his own pulse. Several beads of sweat formed under the brim of his cap.
Ponyta stopped five yards in front of him. Her mane and tail were nothing like the drawing in Papa’s old book. They ebbed and flowed in a way Hal had never seen from any fire: slowly, deliberately. And just as his eyes fixed themselves on that hair that was truly flame, Ponyta’s went to on the strong-smelling branch in his hand. Those eyes were dark and deep, full but sharp—and in a sad way, very hungry. Hal was too nervous, too taken to move his feet, but he knew the correct thing to do was to make her come to him. He held the branch with the smoldering berries out farther, and didn’t dare make a sound.
She stepped closer. Hal saw how her footsteps melted the snow beneath them and left damp ground. She stuck her nose out to the branch. She was close enough for Hal to touch. After several careful sniffs, she took a bite, paying no mind to the fire. She held her portion of the branch in her mouth momentarily before breaking it off. At the same time, the flames on the rest of the branch subsided. It felt like she was eating the heat itself as well as the berries.
As she chewed, Hal decided it was time for the next step. He opened the clasp on his pouch and pinched some apricorn powder between his fingers.
“It won’t make a monster love you, but it’ll keep it from attacking you. Might help them listen, too—never was sure if that was just the Indians exaggerating.”
Those were the words from Papa’s journal. Hal was very aware of how many weeks of saving it had taken Rachel to buy just this one pinch, and of how many years it had taken to build up her entire stock. He hesitated for a moment, then sprinkled it on the remainder of the burnberry branch.
Ponyta finished chewing, stuck her nose in for a second helping, and paused. She sniffed all around Hal’s hand. Hal bit his lip and fought to keep his hand steady. Something in his stomach told him he’d already blown it. He’d gotten hasty and done something suspicious while Ponyta was still wary. It was back to square one, he was sure of it.
Then, Ponyta bit off most of what remained of the branch, and with it, the small dose of powder. She chewed. Hal risked a breath, feeling a drop of sweat roll down his temple. He couldn’t lose focus yet. He reached into the pouch for an even smaller pinch, and applied it to the last twig.
Before he was ready for it, Ponyta took her third portion, barely missing his fingers. Now both of his hands were free, but he was at a loss for what to do with them next. He supposed it would be smart to get another branch from the bush, but he wasn’t confident enough to move from that spot. And he had no idea whether Ponyta had taken enough of the powder to make it safe to touch her.
Ponyta gulped down the last of her small meal. Her eyes went all over: to the river, to the bush, to Hal, to the open space. The image of her trotting away for good entered Hal’s head.
But then, he knew what he was supposed to do next. Wherever this unshakable conviction came from, it pulled his right hand up to within inches of Ponyta’s head. He would put the powder to the test—seize what might be his only opportunity before it was gone.
Ponyta stared at his hand, and didn’t move a muscle. Other than his shaking fingers, he didn’t move a muscle either, not at first. But slowly he did move—no more than an inch at a time.
Then he felt the heat. Ponyta’s mane was true fire, and he felt it. It hurt, and he pulled back the last inch he’d just taken. The heat didn’t reach there.
“The Indians say the monsters control their fires better than we control ours. That makes me think they’ve never met that devil-dog of Cottonwood’s back east, but maybe they know something about the prairie monsters.”
Hal swallowed, and moved his hand that one inch closer again. The heat was still there, and it still hurt. He held his hand in place for ten seconds before he had to wince and mutter, “…ow!” But Ponyta kept staring and didn’t move—not forward, but not away either. Hal didn’t know if he would be punished for showing weakness or…
The heat subsided.
It was still warm, but it was no longer unbearably hot around his fingers, even though nothing had moved. Before Hal was certain about what this meant, he moved in another inch and a sliver until it was hot again. There were a few more seconds of pain, but then the air cooled down as before until it was tolerable. So, Hal moved in closer still. He inched toward the mane in this way as slowly as the hands on a grandfather clock. Then, at last, there was a sharper pain as the tip of his index finger brushed against a strand of fire. But that pain and that heat faded as well. When it did, he stuck in his entire hand.
He was not burned.
His hands felt the way they did under the closest blanket to the fireplace. The mane had appeared to be all one fire, but now Hal thought he felt the single hairs. When he tried to close some between his fingers, they escaped, but when he held still and open, they brushed against him in waves like tall prairie grass in the hot sun. He could put that exact sensation into words in his head even before he realized how wide his smile had grown.
Ponyta moved closer and sniffed his coat. He laughed a little at the tickle of her nose, and immediately forgave Rachel for getting that burnberry-smell sunk into their clothes yesterday. He patted Ponyta’s head, and she let him.
After a while, he felt ready for the next test: He pulled away. He walked to his pack, pulled out the small, leather bridle, and held it in front of Ponyta. Her eyes narrowed a little, and she shifted.
“Don’t worry,” said Hal, with no stutter and with a clear throat. “It doesn’t hurt. You’ll get used to it in no time.”
Ponyta took a glance at the burnberry bush, then stared at the bridle again.
“We’ve got lots of food at home. And I’ll take you out to get berries plenty.”
Ponyta’s eyes widened a touch again. Did she understand him, or did she merely like his tone? It must have been the tone, but Hal was perfectly happy either way. He slowly, carefully slid the bridle over her nose, and gently fastened it around her head. He’d practiced for days with the mule back at the farm, so he knew how to make it comfortingly snug, not tight.
The bridle didn’t catch fire. That more than anything told the story: Ponyta didn’t mind. He patted her on the head again and rubbed her fiery back. “Good girl. You’re really going to like home, promise. Good girl.”
After what felt like some time, though it may have been only a minute, Hal heard careful footsteps behind him. Ponyta took wary note of the new person there, but stayed close to Hal instead of scampering off.
“Oh my Lord,” said Rachel. “You actually got her.”
Hal turned around. Rachel’s hand was in front of her mouth for a moment before she rubbed it over her eyes. “Sorry. I just had my big ‘We’ll get one next year’ speech ready and everything. I mean… holy cow, Hal, this is unbelievable.” She was laughing by the time she got the last word out. Hal had to chuckle a little, too.
Rachel started to move again, holding up her hands. “Don’t worry, I won’t get too close. Don’t want to scare her. And I already told Shung to keep some good distance behind us. You just keep her calm, and I’ll gather up our things!”
“’Kay!”
The last twenty-four hours suddenly felt like a bad, cold, but distant memory. Now it was warm, and he was going home with his monster. And she was the best kind of monster—one that Papa himself never tried to bring back. He couldn’t wait to get home and start on what Rachel said Papa called “the hard part.” But everything was falling into place now, so he knew it’d be no problem.
There was a happy ending, just like Rachel said.
Home was still several miles away, but the sun was high enough in the sky. Walking next to Ponyta made the return hike so much warmer and easier. Hal supposed her considerable heat would make it more difficult in the summer, but he couldn’t bring himself to care just then. He kept the reins in his hand, but she matched his pace perfectly, so he never had to tug.
“Don’t forget,” said Rachel from a ways ahead of them, “We’ve only got about two months’ worth of apricorn powder. She’s got to like you a lot by then.”
“I know. Don’t worry.”
And he really wasn’t worried. He was more concerned about thinking of a good new name for Ponyta. Something better than “Shungmanitu,” definitely. He’d always thought it was too long, and that even “Shung” sounded weird.
Just as he thought this, he heard Shungmanitu growl from far behind him. He stopped at once and looked back at where the mightyena stood. She was staring at the horizon, back arched.
“Stay there.” Rachel jogged past him, making sure to stay on the far side from Ponyta, and approached Shungmanitu.
They both stared. And stared. And stared.
“God damn. God damn, God damn, God damn…”
Hal couldn’t see anything. He didn’t know what was making her talk like she didn’t care about Heaven or Hell.
She turned around and barked at him, “Hal, run! Move it!”
Hal was about to ask why, but he stopped when he saw an orange blur surrounded by red off in the distance. It was getting bigger, and quickly.
Rachel turned her back to him again and yelled at Shungmanitu, “Get her!”
The mightyena darted forward. At the same time, the blur formed into an unmistakable shape. Rapidash let loose a rolling cry that sounded like it would travel for miles.
Rachel threw her mittens to the ground, reached for her belt with both hands, and pulled her knives out of their sheathes. Then she looked behind again, surprised to see him. “Don’t just stand there, dunce! That’s gotta be the mother! Run!”
But Hal’s eyes were stuck on the monsters. Shungmanitu met Rapidash head-on, jumping claws-first at her. Rapidash swung her head as she ran full-steam. They crashed, and Shungmanitu was tossed aside like a ragdoll. Rapidash charged on toward them. Hal’s legs locked in place, and his lip trembled.
“Hal! Move! Get the hell clear of that ponyta! Please!”
He heard the words, but they stopped in his head and didn’t make it to the rest of his body. Only one part of him wanted to listen and get to safety—a greater part wanted to curl up into a ball, and another still couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of those reins. He couldn’t.
“Shit!” Rachel seemed to give up on him. She turned away and set her feet.
Rapidash was only seconds away from Rachel. Her hoofbeats were as loud as thunder. Rachel pulled her right arm back with a blade between her fingers. She threw it. It stuck in the ground mere feet in front of Rapidash, who reared onto her hind legs and bellowed. It was high enough to split Hal’s ears, but also low like a raging wildfire. He fell on his seat.
In the midst of his panic, Hal looked to his side, where Ponyta too was in the grip of something fierce. Her legs could not stay still. They staggered forward, fell back, nearly crumpled, but never moved far from her spot. Her ears stood erect.
Rachel spread her arms wide and waved her other knife. “Go on! Git! Git!”
Rapidash stamped her feet down again and lowered her head. Her mane and tail flared up, and flames began to appear around her teeth.
At the sight, Rachel froze for a moment. Then she pulled her arms in front of her face.
She was just in time. A small blast of fire shot from Rapidash’s mouth. It would have struck Rachel right in the eyes if her arms hadn’t been in the way. She still screamed, fell, and landed on her back, dropping the knife. With a frantic roll, she managed to prop herself on her feet again, but by then Rapidash was closing in. Before Rachel could get all her balance back, Rapidash charged horn-first.
“Aaaagh!”
Hal didn’t see where it hit. He just saw Rachel collapse. Rapidash’s horn was red. She reared up on her hind legs again, and Hal saw the razor-sharp edges of the hooves that hung over his big sister.
What he didn’t see right away was Shungmanitu. She barreled in from the side, mouth snarling and frothing. Rapidash spotted her in time, but she wasn’t ready for her. Shungmanitu leapt for Rapidash’s thick neck and caught it in her fangs. They toppled to the ground in a thrashing heap. Shungmanitu ended up on top.
Rapidash screeched, flailed, and pulled herself free. The bite-marks all around her throat weren’t long or deep, but they leaked wisps of shadow. While she was still barely to her feet, Shungmanitu breathed in deep and let loose a roar that made Hal’s head ring.
Rapidash bolted. She galloped away as fast as lightning, showing no sign of slowing down.
Then, a fearful whinny came from Ponyta’s mouth that caught Hal by surprise. He felt the slack in the reins pull away into tension. Without thinking, he yanked back hard. It pulled Ponyta’s nose downward, and if she had been about to run, she stopped instead.
Hal gasped for air. His head was already dizzy from panic when a different, utterly sick feeling began to sink in.
She clearly wanted to run. But he wouldn’t let her. She might have fought him to get away, but she had taken the powder, so she wouldn’t think to. She might have wanted to follow her mother, but he couldn’t let her get away now—not after everything he’d gone through, not with how badly he wanted her to stay.
He wasn’t inviting her. He was capturing her. Just like Rachel had told him Papa said it was the only way to do it.
Rachel. He looked, and felt even sicker. Not only was he a regular monster-catcher at heart, but he’d let monster-catching completely distract him from something far, far more dire. He dropped the reins and scrambled over to his sister.
Rachel’s eyes were screwed shut. She was pressing hard on her right arm, teeth clenched. Shungmanitu whined and tried to lick beneath her fingers. There was blood seeping out.
Hal stammered, “R…Ra…”
“Hey.” Her teeth barely opened. “Put some… snow on this for me. …It’s hot.”
Hal immediately scooped up all the snow he could fit in his arms. He leaned over her and tried to press it into her wound, even with her hand still in the way. She pulled it out and pounded the ground repeatedly with it. Hal noticed the charred ribbons that had been her coat sleeves. Some faint steam rose wherever the snow touched them.
“I… I’m s… sorr…”
“Goddammit, you little goblin. I told you to run. See if I ever take you anywhere again.”
“I’m sorry!”
Hal realized he was crying. He knew he had no right, seeing as this was all his fault, but he was crying.
“Put some pressure on it,” said Rachel. “It’s still bleeding.”
Hal tried.
“…Good girl, Shung,” she said. “Way to put some fear of the Devil in that dumb horse.”
Shungmanitu still whined and hopped nervously back and forth. She tried to worm her head in front of Hal’s as if she could help. Since he couldn’t brush her off while trying to stop the bleeding, he simply put up with the fur in his face.
“She still there?”
Hal jerked his head up, then realized Rachel wasn’t asking about Rapidash. He looked over his shoulder, and there was Ponyta. She still looked skittish in her stance, but she stayed put.
“…Yeah.”
“Good. It’d be a real damned waste if you lost her after we got rid of the nuisance.”
Hal’s eyes wouldn’t stop leaking.
“I just need a few more minutes here,” said Rachel between gasps, “so pull it together, you big baby.”
It was after sundown when they saw the lamp outside the farmhouse. The last few hours had been the first time in Hal’s life when he had to slow his pace to let Rachel keep up, instead of the other way around. She still had her left hand pressed against her wound, but she was moving, and they were here. When they came to the fence, Shungmanitu jumped over it and ran off to her kennel. Mother didn’t allow monsters inside.
“I can get her a stall in the barn before bed,” said Hal of Ponyta. “I don’t need help.”
“Good,” said Rachel. “Don’t think I’m up to help with that, anyway.” Her eyes were already half-shut.
As for Ponyta, she seemed to be trying to take in her new surroundings with what little light was left. Hal opened the fence gate. They walked up to the house, and Hal thought for a moment about tying the reins to a post. Instead, he decided that since there was a fence, it would be better to trust her and just take the bridle off. When he did so, Ponyta snorted and gave her head a quick shake, as if dealing with an itch. Then she relaxed.
“I’ll be right back out, okay?”
Hal couldn’t tell if Ponyta got the gist of what he said. He supposed they would have time to work on that. He kept his eyes over his shoulder as he followed Rachel inside. Then he shut the door behind them, and they were closed off from the sound of the wind for what felt like the first time in a week.
“Help me with these boots.” Rachel collapsed onto the bench beneath the coatrack. While Hal pulled her boots off, she began to extract herself from her coat. She winced. Hal had to help her with this too when he was done freeing her feet.
He swallowed when he saw it, but in truth, he’d been expecting worse. The horn had managed to punch through both the coat and her wool shirt, but it had hit her arm at an angle, and the puncture wasn’t half as deep as it could have been. Still, the dry blood and the burns were hard to ignore. And in the process of taking the coat off, the wound had opened a little again.
Rachel looked. “…Damn.” She rolled up the sleeve to her shoulder and pressed her cap against her bare arm.
“…Kids? Is that you?” came Mother’s voice from the kitchen.
“Time to get his over with,” said Rachel as she staggered to her feet.
“Get what over with?”
Rachel just sighed. Then she led the way around the corner and into the kitchen, where Mother was sitting by a lit candle at the table. The look on her face when she saw them was indescribable. Hal thought at first that she looked terrified, but there was something else there that seemed simply angry, which he knew couldn’t be the case.
Then, she exploded. “What on Earth happened!”
“Accident. Wasn’t his new monster. It was another one.”
The chair scraped loudly against the floor as Mother sprang to her feet. She seized her own temples and shook. “What difference does that make? You said you were going to be careful!”
“Mother, later.” Rachel was gritting her teeth. “Can you please just get the grain alcohol and the sewing kit?”
“‘Sewing kit?’ Show me right now!”
Rachel groaned, but pulled her cap away, revealing the open wound.
“Oh my God!”
Hal wanted to say it was all his fault—that if he’d let go of Ponyta, then they could have run out of the way, and Rapidash might not have chased them as long as she got to her foal. But something kept his mouth shut. He was pretty sure it was fear.
So instead, Rachel started to raise her voice. “Mother, please. Can you just get me the stuff so I can tend to this before it gets infected?”
Mother covered her eyes, sobbed, and moaned, “You’re not going to be able to work for weeks. And after leaving me here all alone overnight, all so you could bring home another one of your father’s demons… Ohhhh… And now I’ll only have Hal to help me for Lord knows how long… How can you do this to me?”
Then, Rachel exploded as well. “To you?!”
Hal vanished. He slunk out of the kitchen, and would have run right back out the front door if he didn’t need to get his coat and boots first. The shouts from the kitchen grew louder, which convinced him to waste no time on his cap and mittens.
He couldn’t be in the house while they were like this. Not even in winter.
“Okay,” said Hal. “All finished.” It was closer to midnight than sunset. Hal had spent the whole time in the barn, except for when he’d snuck back into the house to grab some hardtack from his pack. The last thing he’d heard when he grabbed his modest supper was Mother yelling about what “that awful smell” was. He didn’t regret his decision to work on Ponyta’s stall instead of sticking around to listen.
The new stall was next to the mule’s, and it was perhaps more spacious than it ought to be. But the important thing was that Ponyta had plenty of hay and her own bucket of water. She stepped into her new quarters with some trepidation at first, but she seemed to get the idea after a minute. She relaxed, and even laid down on her side to get ready for sleep. Her mane didn’t set the straw on fire, which Hal supposed he ought to get used to even if it seemed uncanny.
“Lookin’ good.”
It was Rachel’s voice, and Hal was relieved to hear it at normal volume. It sounded a little lop-sided, though. He looked over to see her leaning against the stall on her good arm. Her wound was covered in gauze, which was good. Less good was that her face was flushed, and hanging from her left hand was a familiar bottle. At least it was just her bathtub gin instead of the grain alcohol, straight. She’d only drunk that once before, the time Mother thought she wasn’t going to wake up again.
“The stall,” said Rachel. “S’lookin’ good.”
“Uh… yeah. She seems comfortable.”
Rachel took a short swig, then said, “Hey, Hal. C’mere.”
He did as she said. Up close, the liquor somehow smelled stronger than the burnberry smoke that was still stuck in their clothes.
“You know, you did real, real good.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded too many times. “Mean it. Papa ain’t couldn’t a’done no better.”
“…Thanks.”
“But hey.” Now her volume fluctuated, and more on the loud side than the quiet. “I know what you thinkin’. And I just wanted a’say…”
Hal was thinking that something always felt deeply wrong when she was like this, but he doubted that was what she had in mind.
“Wanted a’say here’s why you done the right thing. Gettin’ Ponyta way from ’er mother.”
Hal was silent.
“No real mother… wouldn’t a’stopped no foal that don’t wanna stay home no more. And ain’t no foal that wanted a’stay home that wouldn’t a’run afferer… Af-ter-her… ’n Ponyta ain’t run. So’s, that weren’t no real mother, y’see. Was all ’bout her. Cryin’ murder when kid tries a’do somethin’, but givin’ right up right soon’s it gets her hurt. Y’got Ponyta ’way from a bad deal. S’God’s truuf…”
Hal stayed silent. He knew better than to listen to liquor-talk. But it was tough when she was saying what he wanted to hear. Maybe she was right regardless, but how could he know?
For a little while, Rachel was silent too. In fact, she looked like she might fall asleep standing up. But then, out of nowhere, she said, “Y’know I’m leavin’, right?”
“What?”
The air stood still. Hal couldn’t process what she’d just said. It didn’t stick.
“Mean it. If’n you can catch Ponyta, you’re old ’nuff a’live with Mother by yourself. Means I can walk ’way now. Three weeks—no more’n four. Never comin’ back.”
He’d never known. He would never have so much as guessed she felt that badly about home. How could she imagine living anywhere else? Where else was there?
“But I want you t’know… ain’t your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault, and you done Ponyta real good turn today. Real good turn. …Real good.”
She stared at the floor for a while. Then, she looked him in the eye with half a smile, but no more than half. “’Night, Cowboy.”
She staggered away. Only when she was close to the barn door did Hal say back to her, “…’Night.”
Then he was alone. Rather, he and she were alone. Ponyta seemed to have fallen asleep. It had been a long day.
Hal stared into space for some time. He tried to think, but he couldn’t come up with anything—not about Rachel and where she would be soon, nor about Ponyta and where she should be right now. Those problems were too big for him. He would have to settle for dealing with the smaller problems, like getting Ponyta to love her new home before they ran out of apricorn powder. The first thing to come to mind as far as this problem went was this: keep her company overnight. That suited him just fine right then. It certainly sounded more pleasant than heading back to the house for now.
He walked over to Ponyta, who was beginning to snore. With especial care, he laid himself down with his head on her warm belly. She didn’t stir. Her side just rose and fell beneath him. His eyes closed on their own.
At some point, she shifted a little, and her long, fiery tail flopped over and just reached his arm. While he was still half-awake, he brushed it with his fingers. For the second time, he felt those hairs that barely existed. Prairie grass in the sun. He fell asleep, and dreamed of spring.
I wrote this story for a Secret-Santa-type fic exchange back in December of 2017, the recipient and prompt-giver being Thousand Roads's very own @Negrek. Now that I'm on Thousand Roads as well and Christmas approaches, it felt like a good time to give it a once-over and repost it. For those who are curious, here's the original prompt:
We're very used to life with pokéballs and how that informs the way humans interact with pokémon. But of course, pokéballs (or their analogues, like apricorns or whatever that thing was in the Celebi movie) haven't always been around. I'd love to see a story set in a time before pokéballs, or a situation where pokéballs don't work/can't be used for some reason. How do humans get along with pokémon if capturing them is out of the question, or is far harder than with the quick and simple pokéball? Please don't use an established canon idea for this one (i.e. Rangers don't "capture" pokémon as such, there are no pokéballs in ReBURST, etc.).
Content Warnings: Brief language, blood, alcohol. Not recommended for readers under the age of 13.
Wild Horses in Winter
A frigid gust blew over the plain, picking up a fine powder of snow along with it. The wind was Canadian, but this was Dakota Territory, just barely. Hal stuck his mittened hands into his armpits. It helped a little, but it drew a roll of the eyes from his big sister.
“If this is getting to you already, we can try again next year.”
Hal shook his head vigorously, which was a good excuse to shiver. “I’m fine.”
“Quit lagging behind, then.”
It was easy for Rachel to say, considering how much longer her legs were. Hal was nine years old (and seven months, don’t you forget it), but she had another ten years on top of that. Moreover, the bundle of blankets he had to carry on his back wasn’t exactly light, so it seemed especially unfair to expect him to match her pace. On they walked, but Hal stuck out his tongue at her while she wasn’t looking.
He pulled his tongue back in when he noticed Shungmanitu’s ears perk up. You couldn’t slip anything past a monster, especially not one with ears and a nose like a mightyena’s. The black, canine monster even stopped, turned around, and stared at Hal with an eager gleam in her eye and her tongue hanging out, as if to say, “Oh boy! You wanna fight? Huh? Huh? Do you?”
“Don’t tease him, Shung.”
Shungmanitu did as she was told, then jogged ahead of them. Even if she was a natural-born troublemaker, she was still Rachel’s monster and knew how to listen—though Hal understood she used to be much more of a handful. Either way, it certainly spoke to his sister’s know-how when it came to monsters, which was why he couldn’t afford to get on her bad side today; not if he wanted to come home with a monster of his own. He tried harder to keep up.
Rachel pointed at a white spot among other white spots in the distance. “Couple of bushes over there. Come on.”
Hal didn’t know how she could see them. Everything that far off was a blur to him. He wiped the snowflakes out of his eyelashes, but it didn’t help. It was only when they were halfway there that he saw anything. Maybe when he got bigger his eyes would be as good as Rachel’s.
When they got close, Hal was surprised to see very little snow on the bush’s branches. Surrounding it was a big circle where the snow was only an inch thick, and he could even see some of the crushed yellow grass sticking out.
Rachel sighed and shook her head. “That close.” She walked up and inspected the bush’s green, thorny leaves all the same. “Yup, it’s burnberry, but we can’t use it. It’s already picked clean. Ponyta’s been here, no doubt, so that’s a good sign at least.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘ponytas have been here?’” Rachel was usually the one nagging Hal to talk more proper-like, so he jumped on every chance he could to correct her for a change.
“No, I meant, ‘Ponyta has been here.’ She, not they.”
“How you know it’s a she? Or just one? The tracks are snowed over.”
Rachel came to her feet again and surveyed the endless expanse of white around them. “Might be more than one, sure, but Ponyta’s a girl, just like how Mightyena’s a boy even though Shung’s a girl.”
“Huh?”
“There’s lots of them out there, but they’re all Ponyta. It’s just how the Indians talk about monsters.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Don’t worry about it. Papa used to say it doesn’t really make sense till you’ve shared one of their pipes.” Shungmanitu had started to wander, so Rachel removed a mitten and used her fingers to whistle her back. “We’ll find another one. Let’s keep moving.”
According to Rachel, burnberries were the best way to lure a wild ponyta—rather, to lure Ponyta. It was their—her favorite food in the winter, and Rapidash often melted the snow around the bushes to make their preferred place to sleep. Hal just wished the shrubs weren’t so few and far between out on the prairie. He breathed into his mittens in an attempt to warm his face as they started walking again. It was just past noon now, and it wouldn’t be fun if they hadn’t caught his Ponyta by nightfall.
*********
Two hours had passed. Hal struggled more with each step to dig his feet through the snow, but at least his boots were keeping them dry. Now they were moving south, following the banks of a silent, sleeping river. Mercifully, this meant the wind was at their backs for now. Hal’s nose was beginning to run when Rachel spoke for the first time in a while.
“There’s another one. Our side of the river, too.”
It took Hal a moment to realize she’d said anything. He must have been more tired than he thought.
“Look alive, Cowboy. Bet this is it.”
Hal hated it when she called him that, but it was too much trouble to say anything. He trudged after her until the bush finally came into view. The snow on this one was thicker, so it took him longer to see. There was no sign of a melted circle around—the place was untouched.
Rachel took a squat and gently brushed the snow off the leaves. “Yes! Hal, take a look!”
Among the sharp leaves were some red berries, each about as thick as a thumb. Rachel took off her mittens and felt with care for a good branch. “Get out your flint. It’s time to get to work.” She broke off the branch. It had three berries on it, which drew the hard attention of Shungmanitu’s nose. “Not for you, girl. Unless you get frostbite and we need some.”
Hal set down his bundle of things and dug out his trusty, worn block of flint, along with the thin steel rod. Rachel held out the branch and said, “Go for where the twigs are thickest. It’ll catch the berries after that.”
“I know.” He didn’t add that he was pretty sure he was better at starting fires than she was. Instead, he concentrated on getting his sore fingers to strike the steel with enough force. Soon he had sparks, which in turn soon caught the branch. The smell was almost overpowering, even to Hal’s runny nose. It left a sour, unpleasant taste in his mouth.
Rachel set the burning branch in the snow a few yards upwind of them. Then a gust picked up and Hal expected the flame to go out, but somehow it stayed strong. “…Wow.”
“That’s how you know these things are special. They love fire and know how to hold onto it, cold be damned. Ponyta eats this stuff like candy.”
Hal thought about summer, when the candy-maker’s wagon would roll into town for a week. He hated winter. “How long till a… till Ponyta smells this?”
Rachel put her mittens back on, took out a small spade, and began clearing the snow away from a patch of ground. “Good question. Few hours if we’re lucky. I think we’ll have to light a new one every four.”
Hal shivered. “…Can we start our campfire now, then?”
“Nope. We’re not lighting anything that didn’t come from that bush.”
Hal’s stomach sank. He couldn’t have heard that right. “…Huh?”
“If we lit logs, then the wind would smell like a human fire. It has to smell like Ponyta’s relations found a burnberry bush and set a little of it on fire to let the others know.”
“But… but you brought all that wood in your pack…”
“That’s cause Mother wouldn’t have let you come if I didn’t tell her we’d have a fire.”
Rachel was now sitting on a patch of cleared ground downwind from the flame. She patted the spot next to her, and Hal sat down with some reluctance. It was better than sitting on bare snow, but not by a lot. He wasn’t sure he would have undertaken this expedition if he’d known there wasn’t going to be a proper fire. “Wish we could do this in the spring.”
Rachel chuckled. “And miss this beautiful snow-scape?” She shook her head. “Anyway, winter’s the only time when Ponyta’s not happy with living outdoors and might prefer to take up with people. If we wanted to do this in the spring, you’d have to pick another kind of monster, cause I ain’t going to try physical persuasion on a fire-monster.”
“I don’t want to strongarm my monster.”
“I know, Cowboy.”
Neither of them spoke for a long time. The wind grew more and less tolerable in fits and starts, but the berries stayed lit all the while. Hal bet he was going to have this terrible smell on him for weeks. But then, he realized this was probably the point. All that mattered was Ponyta not getting put off by his smell when she got close, so better to smell like her favorite food. Still, Mother would no doubt have something to say about it when she got a whiff.
“In case you’re wondering,” said Rachel at some point, “Once this smell’s nice and set in our clothes, we’ll put up a lean-to to get out of the wind. I think we’ll be good by the time the sun goes down.”
It was torture waiting for that point to arrive. It felt dozens of needles were pricking the tips of Hal’s fingers. He did everything he could to keep them moving, and told himself the real trouble would be when he couldn’t feel them at all. At length, his toes began to feel as bad as his fingers. Then, out of nowhere, Rachel grabbed his shoulders and rubbed them with obnoxious vigor. He shook her off. The last thing he wanted was for her to start treating him like a baby—though his shoulders did feel better for a minute, there.
All the while, he kept his eyes on the vast expanse for any sign of Ponyta. But there was none. There was only a flat, endless plain of white extending to the horizon.
*********
The clouds on their left were deep red when the sun touched the land. Hal had barely moved an inch and hadn’t said a word since they lit the second branch an hour ago. It only now truly occurred to him: They were going to have to sleep out here in the cold. Even if Ponyta were to show up now, they wouldn’t be able to get back to the farm without him falling asleep on his feet. And now, he had to wonder if he would actually wake up in the morning or just freeze before then.
Rachel stood. “Okay. Think we’re good to get out of the wind now.”
Hal tried to stand as well, but he couldn’t do it right away. His bones creaked like an old chair when he finally came to his feet, and after that he couldn’t manage to do much more than shuffle along slowly, arms crossed over his chest.
“Cheer up,” said Rachel. “This’ll be worth it when Ponyta doesn’t run away at first smell of you.” Rachel took the burning branch and moved it downwind of their snowless patch of ground. “Clear away some more of that snow. Get enough room for us to lie down.”
She handed him her spade. His spirit sank at the thought of bending his knees, much less of moving snow. But he had to do what she said or it would go even worse for him, he knew. He stared at the white stuff and slowly convinced his body to get to work. While he shoveled away, Rachel unrolled the largest part of her pack: a tanned buffalo hide. She was done staking it into the ground at about the same time Hal was done clearing their spot.
Altogether, it was no more than some sticks, skin, rope, and heavy nails, but to Hal it might as well have been a cabin. The hide was large enough that only half of it made up the actual lean-to: the rest served as a floor. Tan-side out, fur-side in. Hal sat down again—rather, collapsed—and for the moment at least it was enough just to be under cover. But it wasn’t long until it became apparent that getting out of the wind wouldn’t be nearly enough to warm him up.
It wasn’t quite dark, but already Hal was starting to nod off. Time passed. At some point, Rachel gave him some jerky and hardtack for “supper.” He tried to dig his teeth into the aged biscuit and immediately regretted it. It was difficult enough to chew the things when you were fully awake, but since Hal was freezing, drowsy, and miserable, it was an honest struggle. It took several swigs of water to get through the whole thing. And it only annoyed him how Shungmanitu got through hers in only a few bites and was now begging for more with her tongue wagging.
Before Hal knew it, the sun was gone. All of the daytime animals and monsters would be going to sleep soon. The day was finished, and they hadn’t seen Ponyta.
“Well,” said Rachel, “Guess we ought to bunker down for the night.”
She gathered up the blankets from their packs, three in all. She laid out one on the hide-floor to make it a little more comfortable to sleep on. The other two she kept together, and she laid down under both.
Hal was in disbelief. Did she think he didn’t need one? “…Where’s mine?”
“Right here. We have to share.” Rachel patted the spot right next to her.
She couldn’t be serious, Hal told himself. He was nine gosh-darned years old and hadn’t slept with anyone since he was three.
“Don’t give me that tough-guy look, mister. We’ve only got so much warm between us, and we can’t waste any of it. You’re not sleeping under just one blanket and that’s final.”
“But—”
“Hal! I am in charge of you out here, and you’ll do what I tell you or you’re going to wake up frostbitten and fingerless or dead! Now get under here!”
For several seconds, Hal did nothing. With as much defiance as he could muster, he weighed his options. If he tried sleeping without a blanket at all, he would probably die. And there was no way he could just take one of the blankets, since Rachel was too strong. And he couldn’t imagine she’d listen to anything he said, either. He was stuck.
He frowned, laid next to Rachel, and made a point to keep his back to her. Then the blankets fell on top of him, and he had to admit it was pretty warm compared to the open air.
“C’mere, Shung. Bedtime.”
“—Oof!”
Hal wished he’d known that Shungmanitu would interpret “bedtime” as “lie down on top of us.” She was heavy, and one of her hind paws was digging into his gut. He had to shift his weight around to get anywhere close to comfortable again. It was warmer this way, though.
Then Rachel put her arm over his shoulder and pulled him in closer, and Hal knew he had to draw some kind of line. He tried to shake himself loose. “Get off.”
“Shut up. You’re shivering.”
Hal screwed his eyes shut and fumed. He really couldn’t stand her sometimes. He just wanted to get to sleep and put this terrible day behind him.
For a while, there was no sound save from the wind outside the lean-to. Then, to Hal’s frustration, Rachel spoke up again. “You know,” she said, “Papa used to say he wished you’d come along sooner. Just so he wouldn’t have to wait so long to get you your monster.”
Hal said nothing. What was he supposed to say? He never knew—not when she talked about Papa.
“Do you remember him at all?”
What kind of a question was that? It was like asking if he remembered first learning about Christmas. He knew what Papa looked like, sort of, and a little of what he sounded like, but that wasn’t the same as remembering any particular day when he was there.
“I’ll never forget when we caught Shung together. It was summer, so we had lots of daylight to work with. You should’ve seen him wrestle her down. She was so quick when she was Poochyena, it was like trying to catch a mouse with only your toes.”
Shungmanitu was already snoring. Hal felt her side move up and down.
“My only job was to get her to take the apricorn powder. Got a few scratches trying, but that was nothing to what she gave Papa. His face was a mess. All had a happy ending, though.”
Hal didn’t like hearing this story. Rachel could never tell him why it didn’t matter that Shungmanitu didn’t want to come with them at first—all she ever said was that it had a “happy ending.” And even if they probably couldn’t get Shungmanitu to leave now if they tried, his still didn’t like it.
“You know,” said Rachel, “this is where you usually call me and Papa monster-bullying tyrants.”
“…I ain’t never said that.”
“Guess it was my imagination.”
Hal heard the wind pick up, but the lean-to held firm. He only felt the cold where his face was exposed to the air. He burrowed deeper under the blanket, but it felt like he was getting less air this way.
“Hey, Hal. Listen. Tomorrow might not feel right for you, when you meet Ponyta. Even though you’re not fighting her, it’ll feel a bit like you’re tricking her, like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Or that it’s the powder calling the shots and not her.”
Hal said nothing.
“Thing is, monsters are like little children. They don’t always choose what’s best for them, cause they can’t think that far ahead. That’s why the luckiest ones are the ones who end up with the right people. They live longer and happier than they do in the wild. They get sick less and grow up smarter and kinder, too. So, it’s not about what you do tomorrow. It’s about how you bring her up from there.
“That’s how Papa always put it, anyway. Keep that in your head when it’s time.”
Hal didn’t know what to think about any of that, but for now he was too tired to try. The only thing on his mind was falling asleep. So eventually, he did.
*********
“Hal, get up.”
Even though it was still darker than lighter, Hal was already awake. He just thought it seemed too hard to act like it. He tried to crack his eyes open, but they wouldn’t move right away. It was like trying to pry a shovel loose that had frozen flat in the mud overnight. When he could finally see, the first thing he noticed was his breath.
Rachel pulled the blankets off. The cold attacked Hal’s body all at once, even through his thick clothes. He heard Shungmanitu running in circles around them and barking—just her usual morning self. Hal’s own morning self was bad enough, but right now he was ten times worse. There was no part of his body, not one joint, he could move without concentrating on it. He started with his arms to prop himself up. Eventually he was on his feet, but he felt rooted to the spot. It felt like if he was going to move at all, it would only be because the wind knocked him over.
“Get out your flint. Time to light a new branch.”
From there, the morning moved only in aching, interminable stretches, and Hal seemed to lose the transitions between them. At some point he got the fire to stick, at some point they ate some more hardtack, at some point he had to pee. The last of these took the longest.
Morning twilight turned to dawn, and dawn to day. The sun helped a little, but the wind picked up as well. Today, at least, he was spared having to sit in it. But that mattered little when his insides felt like ice.
“…and she still won’t let it go. I swear, every night after you go to bed she’s always on me about…”
Hal missed the context of whatever it was Rachel was saying. How did she still have the energy to speak? He lost track of the one-sided conversation just as quickly as he’d become aware of it.
Minutes or hours or weeks later, the sun was halfway through the sky. The thought should have come to him already, but now Hal had to confront the possibility they might not see Ponyta today, either. They wouldn’t sleep out here for another night in a row, surely? That would kill even Rachel, wouldn’t it? Hal would have to say something, anything if it came to that. They had to be home by nightfall, or he didn’t know what would happen.
But he knew what would happen if he said he even might want to quit. Rachel would never take him out here to try again. Ever. He might even have to wait three whole years before he could ever convince her he was in fact ready. So, between this awful knowledge and the biting cold, Hal’s mouth stayed shut tight.
Just then, Rachel nearly jumped out of her skin and snapped him out of his thoughts. “Hal! Look!”
His eyes jolted open. He tried to look, but everything past the little flame on the branch was just white and blue. It stayed white for many long seconds, until finally he caught something to his right. Standing out from the rest was a small blur of orange, taller than it was wide.
Hal’s tongue caught in his throat. He came to his feet as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“This is it!” Rachel quickly knocked down the sticks holding up their lean-to. Hal understood immediately: It mustn’t look like a human encampment from a distance. “I’ll get myself and Shung a good ways away. You take care of it from here! Got your pouch?”
Hal felt around his belt. The pouch of apricorn powder was still there. Not much in it, but he knew what to do with it.
Shungmanitu was bounding all around from the excitement in the air, but she followed Rachel as she led her away up-wind—more so that the mightyena wouldn’t become too aware of Ponyta’s scent than the other way around. The two followed the frozen river north until they looked very small to Hal. And when he looked back, the blur that must be Ponyta had grown larger.
Hal tried to anticipate what would happen when Ponyta came close, and what he would do in response. The first thing he settled on was the need to get her attention in a way that didn’t scare her off. So, he bent down and picked up the burning branch from its place in the snow. He also tossed his mittens to the ground, heedless of how cold his hands were. All he needed was the warmth of the tiny fire to fool himself.
Then he waited. He kept his eyes on the orange blur in the distance, and slowly it began to take shape. The colors separated into the flickering orange mane above and the lighter, paler body below. When he could discern her face and her legs moving at a slow, steady gait, he began to feel his own pulse. Several beads of sweat formed under the brim of his cap.
Ponyta stopped five yards in front of him. Her mane and tail were nothing like the drawing in Papa’s old book. They ebbed and flowed in a way Hal had never seen from any fire: slowly, deliberately. And just as his eyes fixed themselves on that hair that was truly flame, Ponyta’s went to on the strong-smelling branch in his hand. Those eyes were dark and deep, full but sharp—and in a sad way, very hungry. Hal was too nervous, too taken to move his feet, but he knew the correct thing to do was to make her come to him. He held the branch with the smoldering berries out farther, and didn’t dare make a sound.
She stepped closer. Hal saw how her footsteps melted the snow beneath them and left damp ground. She stuck her nose out to the branch. She was close enough for Hal to touch. After several careful sniffs, she took a bite, paying no mind to the fire. She held her portion of the branch in her mouth momentarily before breaking it off. At the same time, the flames on the rest of the branch subsided. It felt like she was eating the heat itself as well as the berries.
As she chewed, Hal decided it was time for the next step. He opened the clasp on his pouch and pinched some apricorn powder between his fingers.
“It won’t make a monster love you, but it’ll keep it from attacking you. Might help them listen, too—never was sure if that was just the Indians exaggerating.”
Those were the words from Papa’s journal. Hal was very aware of how many weeks of saving it had taken Rachel to buy just this one pinch, and of how many years it had taken to build up her entire stock. He hesitated for a moment, then sprinkled it on the remainder of the burnberry branch.
Ponyta finished chewing, stuck her nose in for a second helping, and paused. She sniffed all around Hal’s hand. Hal bit his lip and fought to keep his hand steady. Something in his stomach told him he’d already blown it. He’d gotten hasty and done something suspicious while Ponyta was still wary. It was back to square one, he was sure of it.
Then, Ponyta bit off most of what remained of the branch, and with it, the small dose of powder. She chewed. Hal risked a breath, feeling a drop of sweat roll down his temple. He couldn’t lose focus yet. He reached into the pouch for an even smaller pinch, and applied it to the last twig.
Before he was ready for it, Ponyta took her third portion, barely missing his fingers. Now both of his hands were free, but he was at a loss for what to do with them next. He supposed it would be smart to get another branch from the bush, but he wasn’t confident enough to move from that spot. And he had no idea whether Ponyta had taken enough of the powder to make it safe to touch her.
Ponyta gulped down the last of her small meal. Her eyes went all over: to the river, to the bush, to Hal, to the open space. The image of her trotting away for good entered Hal’s head.
But then, he knew what he was supposed to do next. Wherever this unshakable conviction came from, it pulled his right hand up to within inches of Ponyta’s head. He would put the powder to the test—seize what might be his only opportunity before it was gone.
Ponyta stared at his hand, and didn’t move a muscle. Other than his shaking fingers, he didn’t move a muscle either, not at first. But slowly he did move—no more than an inch at a time.
Then he felt the heat. Ponyta’s mane was true fire, and he felt it. It hurt, and he pulled back the last inch he’d just taken. The heat didn’t reach there.
“The Indians say the monsters control their fires better than we control ours. That makes me think they’ve never met that devil-dog of Cottonwood’s back east, but maybe they know something about the prairie monsters.”
Hal swallowed, and moved his hand that one inch closer again. The heat was still there, and it still hurt. He held his hand in place for ten seconds before he had to wince and mutter, “…ow!” But Ponyta kept staring and didn’t move—not forward, but not away either. Hal didn’t know if he would be punished for showing weakness or…
The heat subsided.
It was still warm, but it was no longer unbearably hot around his fingers, even though nothing had moved. Before Hal was certain about what this meant, he moved in another inch and a sliver until it was hot again. There were a few more seconds of pain, but then the air cooled down as before until it was tolerable. So, Hal moved in closer still. He inched toward the mane in this way as slowly as the hands on a grandfather clock. Then, at last, there was a sharper pain as the tip of his index finger brushed against a strand of fire. But that pain and that heat faded as well. When it did, he stuck in his entire hand.
He was not burned.
His hands felt the way they did under the closest blanket to the fireplace. The mane had appeared to be all one fire, but now Hal thought he felt the single hairs. When he tried to close some between his fingers, they escaped, but when he held still and open, they brushed against him in waves like tall prairie grass in the hot sun. He could put that exact sensation into words in his head even before he realized how wide his smile had grown.
Ponyta moved closer and sniffed his coat. He laughed a little at the tickle of her nose, and immediately forgave Rachel for getting that burnberry-smell sunk into their clothes yesterday. He patted Ponyta’s head, and she let him.
After a while, he felt ready for the next test: He pulled away. He walked to his pack, pulled out the small, leather bridle, and held it in front of Ponyta. Her eyes narrowed a little, and she shifted.
“Don’t worry,” said Hal, with no stutter and with a clear throat. “It doesn’t hurt. You’ll get used to it in no time.”
Ponyta took a glance at the burnberry bush, then stared at the bridle again.
“We’ve got lots of food at home. And I’ll take you out to get berries plenty.”
Ponyta’s eyes widened a touch again. Did she understand him, or did she merely like his tone? It must have been the tone, but Hal was perfectly happy either way. He slowly, carefully slid the bridle over her nose, and gently fastened it around her head. He’d practiced for days with the mule back at the farm, so he knew how to make it comfortingly snug, not tight.
The bridle didn’t catch fire. That more than anything told the story: Ponyta didn’t mind. He patted her on the head again and rubbed her fiery back. “Good girl. You’re really going to like home, promise. Good girl.”
After what felt like some time, though it may have been only a minute, Hal heard careful footsteps behind him. Ponyta took wary note of the new person there, but stayed close to Hal instead of scampering off.
“Oh my Lord,” said Rachel. “You actually got her.”
Hal turned around. Rachel’s hand was in front of her mouth for a moment before she rubbed it over her eyes. “Sorry. I just had my big ‘We’ll get one next year’ speech ready and everything. I mean… holy cow, Hal, this is unbelievable.” She was laughing by the time she got the last word out. Hal had to chuckle a little, too.
Rachel started to move again, holding up her hands. “Don’t worry, I won’t get too close. Don’t want to scare her. And I already told Shung to keep some good distance behind us. You just keep her calm, and I’ll gather up our things!”
“’Kay!”
The last twenty-four hours suddenly felt like a bad, cold, but distant memory. Now it was warm, and he was going home with his monster. And she was the best kind of monster—one that Papa himself never tried to bring back. He couldn’t wait to get home and start on what Rachel said Papa called “the hard part.” But everything was falling into place now, so he knew it’d be no problem.
There was a happy ending, just like Rachel said.
*********
Home was still several miles away, but the sun was high enough in the sky. Walking next to Ponyta made the return hike so much warmer and easier. Hal supposed her considerable heat would make it more difficult in the summer, but he couldn’t bring himself to care just then. He kept the reins in his hand, but she matched his pace perfectly, so he never had to tug.
“Don’t forget,” said Rachel from a ways ahead of them, “We’ve only got about two months’ worth of apricorn powder. She’s got to like you a lot by then.”
“I know. Don’t worry.”
And he really wasn’t worried. He was more concerned about thinking of a good new name for Ponyta. Something better than “Shungmanitu,” definitely. He’d always thought it was too long, and that even “Shung” sounded weird.
Just as he thought this, he heard Shungmanitu growl from far behind him. He stopped at once and looked back at where the mightyena stood. She was staring at the horizon, back arched.
“Stay there.” Rachel jogged past him, making sure to stay on the far side from Ponyta, and approached Shungmanitu.
They both stared. And stared. And stared.
“God damn. God damn, God damn, God damn…”
Hal couldn’t see anything. He didn’t know what was making her talk like she didn’t care about Heaven or Hell.
She turned around and barked at him, “Hal, run! Move it!”
Hal was about to ask why, but he stopped when he saw an orange blur surrounded by red off in the distance. It was getting bigger, and quickly.
Rachel turned her back to him again and yelled at Shungmanitu, “Get her!”
The mightyena darted forward. At the same time, the blur formed into an unmistakable shape. Rapidash let loose a rolling cry that sounded like it would travel for miles.
Rachel threw her mittens to the ground, reached for her belt with both hands, and pulled her knives out of their sheathes. Then she looked behind again, surprised to see him. “Don’t just stand there, dunce! That’s gotta be the mother! Run!”
But Hal’s eyes were stuck on the monsters. Shungmanitu met Rapidash head-on, jumping claws-first at her. Rapidash swung her head as she ran full-steam. They crashed, and Shungmanitu was tossed aside like a ragdoll. Rapidash charged on toward them. Hal’s legs locked in place, and his lip trembled.
“Hal! Move! Get the hell clear of that ponyta! Please!”
He heard the words, but they stopped in his head and didn’t make it to the rest of his body. Only one part of him wanted to listen and get to safety—a greater part wanted to curl up into a ball, and another still couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of those reins. He couldn’t.
“Shit!” Rachel seemed to give up on him. She turned away and set her feet.
Rapidash was only seconds away from Rachel. Her hoofbeats were as loud as thunder. Rachel pulled her right arm back with a blade between her fingers. She threw it. It stuck in the ground mere feet in front of Rapidash, who reared onto her hind legs and bellowed. It was high enough to split Hal’s ears, but also low like a raging wildfire. He fell on his seat.
In the midst of his panic, Hal looked to his side, where Ponyta too was in the grip of something fierce. Her legs could not stay still. They staggered forward, fell back, nearly crumpled, but never moved far from her spot. Her ears stood erect.
Rachel spread her arms wide and waved her other knife. “Go on! Git! Git!”
Rapidash stamped her feet down again and lowered her head. Her mane and tail flared up, and flames began to appear around her teeth.
At the sight, Rachel froze for a moment. Then she pulled her arms in front of her face.
She was just in time. A small blast of fire shot from Rapidash’s mouth. It would have struck Rachel right in the eyes if her arms hadn’t been in the way. She still screamed, fell, and landed on her back, dropping the knife. With a frantic roll, she managed to prop herself on her feet again, but by then Rapidash was closing in. Before Rachel could get all her balance back, Rapidash charged horn-first.
“Aaaagh!”
Hal didn’t see where it hit. He just saw Rachel collapse. Rapidash’s horn was red. She reared up on her hind legs again, and Hal saw the razor-sharp edges of the hooves that hung over his big sister.
What he didn’t see right away was Shungmanitu. She barreled in from the side, mouth snarling and frothing. Rapidash spotted her in time, but she wasn’t ready for her. Shungmanitu leapt for Rapidash’s thick neck and caught it in her fangs. They toppled to the ground in a thrashing heap. Shungmanitu ended up on top.
Rapidash screeched, flailed, and pulled herself free. The bite-marks all around her throat weren’t long or deep, but they leaked wisps of shadow. While she was still barely to her feet, Shungmanitu breathed in deep and let loose a roar that made Hal’s head ring.
Rapidash bolted. She galloped away as fast as lightning, showing no sign of slowing down.
Then, a fearful whinny came from Ponyta’s mouth that caught Hal by surprise. He felt the slack in the reins pull away into tension. Without thinking, he yanked back hard. It pulled Ponyta’s nose downward, and if she had been about to run, she stopped instead.
Hal gasped for air. His head was already dizzy from panic when a different, utterly sick feeling began to sink in.
She clearly wanted to run. But he wouldn’t let her. She might have fought him to get away, but she had taken the powder, so she wouldn’t think to. She might have wanted to follow her mother, but he couldn’t let her get away now—not after everything he’d gone through, not with how badly he wanted her to stay.
He wasn’t inviting her. He was capturing her. Just like Rachel had told him Papa said it was the only way to do it.
Rachel. He looked, and felt even sicker. Not only was he a regular monster-catcher at heart, but he’d let monster-catching completely distract him from something far, far more dire. He dropped the reins and scrambled over to his sister.
Rachel’s eyes were screwed shut. She was pressing hard on her right arm, teeth clenched. Shungmanitu whined and tried to lick beneath her fingers. There was blood seeping out.
Hal stammered, “R…Ra…”
“Hey.” Her teeth barely opened. “Put some… snow on this for me. …It’s hot.”
Hal immediately scooped up all the snow he could fit in his arms. He leaned over her and tried to press it into her wound, even with her hand still in the way. She pulled it out and pounded the ground repeatedly with it. Hal noticed the charred ribbons that had been her coat sleeves. Some faint steam rose wherever the snow touched them.
“I… I’m s… sorr…”
“Goddammit, you little goblin. I told you to run. See if I ever take you anywhere again.”
“I’m sorry!”
Hal realized he was crying. He knew he had no right, seeing as this was all his fault, but he was crying.
“Put some pressure on it,” said Rachel. “It’s still bleeding.”
Hal tried.
“…Good girl, Shung,” she said. “Way to put some fear of the Devil in that dumb horse.”
Shungmanitu still whined and hopped nervously back and forth. She tried to worm her head in front of Hal’s as if she could help. Since he couldn’t brush her off while trying to stop the bleeding, he simply put up with the fur in his face.
“She still there?”
Hal jerked his head up, then realized Rachel wasn’t asking about Rapidash. He looked over his shoulder, and there was Ponyta. She still looked skittish in her stance, but she stayed put.
“…Yeah.”
“Good. It’d be a real damned waste if you lost her after we got rid of the nuisance.”
Hal’s eyes wouldn’t stop leaking.
“I just need a few more minutes here,” said Rachel between gasps, “so pull it together, you big baby.”
*********
It was after sundown when they saw the lamp outside the farmhouse. The last few hours had been the first time in Hal’s life when he had to slow his pace to let Rachel keep up, instead of the other way around. She still had her left hand pressed against her wound, but she was moving, and they were here. When they came to the fence, Shungmanitu jumped over it and ran off to her kennel. Mother didn’t allow monsters inside.
“I can get her a stall in the barn before bed,” said Hal of Ponyta. “I don’t need help.”
“Good,” said Rachel. “Don’t think I’m up to help with that, anyway.” Her eyes were already half-shut.
As for Ponyta, she seemed to be trying to take in her new surroundings with what little light was left. Hal opened the fence gate. They walked up to the house, and Hal thought for a moment about tying the reins to a post. Instead, he decided that since there was a fence, it would be better to trust her and just take the bridle off. When he did so, Ponyta snorted and gave her head a quick shake, as if dealing with an itch. Then she relaxed.
“I’ll be right back out, okay?”
Hal couldn’t tell if Ponyta got the gist of what he said. He supposed they would have time to work on that. He kept his eyes over his shoulder as he followed Rachel inside. Then he shut the door behind them, and they were closed off from the sound of the wind for what felt like the first time in a week.
“Help me with these boots.” Rachel collapsed onto the bench beneath the coatrack. While Hal pulled her boots off, she began to extract herself from her coat. She winced. Hal had to help her with this too when he was done freeing her feet.
He swallowed when he saw it, but in truth, he’d been expecting worse. The horn had managed to punch through both the coat and her wool shirt, but it had hit her arm at an angle, and the puncture wasn’t half as deep as it could have been. Still, the dry blood and the burns were hard to ignore. And in the process of taking the coat off, the wound had opened a little again.
Rachel looked. “…Damn.” She rolled up the sleeve to her shoulder and pressed her cap against her bare arm.
“…Kids? Is that you?” came Mother’s voice from the kitchen.
“Time to get his over with,” said Rachel as she staggered to her feet.
“Get what over with?”
Rachel just sighed. Then she led the way around the corner and into the kitchen, where Mother was sitting by a lit candle at the table. The look on her face when she saw them was indescribable. Hal thought at first that she looked terrified, but there was something else there that seemed simply angry, which he knew couldn’t be the case.
Then, she exploded. “What on Earth happened!”
“Accident. Wasn’t his new monster. It was another one.”
The chair scraped loudly against the floor as Mother sprang to her feet. She seized her own temples and shook. “What difference does that make? You said you were going to be careful!”
“Mother, later.” Rachel was gritting her teeth. “Can you please just get the grain alcohol and the sewing kit?”
“‘Sewing kit?’ Show me right now!”
Rachel groaned, but pulled her cap away, revealing the open wound.
“Oh my God!”
Hal wanted to say it was all his fault—that if he’d let go of Ponyta, then they could have run out of the way, and Rapidash might not have chased them as long as she got to her foal. But something kept his mouth shut. He was pretty sure it was fear.
So instead, Rachel started to raise her voice. “Mother, please. Can you just get me the stuff so I can tend to this before it gets infected?”
Mother covered her eyes, sobbed, and moaned, “You’re not going to be able to work for weeks. And after leaving me here all alone overnight, all so you could bring home another one of your father’s demons… Ohhhh… And now I’ll only have Hal to help me for Lord knows how long… How can you do this to me?”
Then, Rachel exploded as well. “To you?!”
Hal vanished. He slunk out of the kitchen, and would have run right back out the front door if he didn’t need to get his coat and boots first. The shouts from the kitchen grew louder, which convinced him to waste no time on his cap and mittens.
He couldn’t be in the house while they were like this. Not even in winter.
*********
“Okay,” said Hal. “All finished.” It was closer to midnight than sunset. Hal had spent the whole time in the barn, except for when he’d snuck back into the house to grab some hardtack from his pack. The last thing he’d heard when he grabbed his modest supper was Mother yelling about what “that awful smell” was. He didn’t regret his decision to work on Ponyta’s stall instead of sticking around to listen.
The new stall was next to the mule’s, and it was perhaps more spacious than it ought to be. But the important thing was that Ponyta had plenty of hay and her own bucket of water. She stepped into her new quarters with some trepidation at first, but she seemed to get the idea after a minute. She relaxed, and even laid down on her side to get ready for sleep. Her mane didn’t set the straw on fire, which Hal supposed he ought to get used to even if it seemed uncanny.
“Lookin’ good.”
It was Rachel’s voice, and Hal was relieved to hear it at normal volume. It sounded a little lop-sided, though. He looked over to see her leaning against the stall on her good arm. Her wound was covered in gauze, which was good. Less good was that her face was flushed, and hanging from her left hand was a familiar bottle. At least it was just her bathtub gin instead of the grain alcohol, straight. She’d only drunk that once before, the time Mother thought she wasn’t going to wake up again.
“The stall,” said Rachel. “S’lookin’ good.”
“Uh… yeah. She seems comfortable.”
Rachel took a short swig, then said, “Hey, Hal. C’mere.”
He did as she said. Up close, the liquor somehow smelled stronger than the burnberry smoke that was still stuck in their clothes.
“You know, you did real, real good.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded too many times. “Mean it. Papa ain’t couldn’t a’done no better.”
“…Thanks.”
“But hey.” Now her volume fluctuated, and more on the loud side than the quiet. “I know what you thinkin’. And I just wanted a’say…”
Hal was thinking that something always felt deeply wrong when she was like this, but he doubted that was what she had in mind.
“Wanted a’say here’s why you done the right thing. Gettin’ Ponyta way from ’er mother.”
Hal was silent.
“No real mother… wouldn’t a’stopped no foal that don’t wanna stay home no more. And ain’t no foal that wanted a’stay home that wouldn’t a’run afferer… Af-ter-her… ’n Ponyta ain’t run. So’s, that weren’t no real mother, y’see. Was all ’bout her. Cryin’ murder when kid tries a’do somethin’, but givin’ right up right soon’s it gets her hurt. Y’got Ponyta ’way from a bad deal. S’God’s truuf…”
Hal stayed silent. He knew better than to listen to liquor-talk. But it was tough when she was saying what he wanted to hear. Maybe she was right regardless, but how could he know?
For a little while, Rachel was silent too. In fact, she looked like she might fall asleep standing up. But then, out of nowhere, she said, “Y’know I’m leavin’, right?”
“What?”
The air stood still. Hal couldn’t process what she’d just said. It didn’t stick.
“Mean it. If’n you can catch Ponyta, you’re old ’nuff a’live with Mother by yourself. Means I can walk ’way now. Three weeks—no more’n four. Never comin’ back.”
He’d never known. He would never have so much as guessed she felt that badly about home. How could she imagine living anywhere else? Where else was there?
“But I want you t’know… ain’t your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault, and you done Ponyta real good turn today. Real good turn. …Real good.”
She stared at the floor for a while. Then, she looked him in the eye with half a smile, but no more than half. “’Night, Cowboy.”
She staggered away. Only when she was close to the barn door did Hal say back to her, “…’Night.”
Then he was alone. Rather, he and she were alone. Ponyta seemed to have fallen asleep. It had been a long day.
Hal stared into space for some time. He tried to think, but he couldn’t come up with anything—not about Rachel and where she would be soon, nor about Ponyta and where she should be right now. Those problems were too big for him. He would have to settle for dealing with the smaller problems, like getting Ponyta to love her new home before they ran out of apricorn powder. The first thing to come to mind as far as this problem went was this: keep her company overnight. That suited him just fine right then. It certainly sounded more pleasant than heading back to the house for now.
He walked over to Ponyta, who was beginning to snore. With especial care, he laid himself down with his head on her warm belly. She didn’t stir. Her side just rose and fell beneath him. His eyes closed on their own.
At some point, she shifted a little, and her long, fiery tail flopped over and just reached his arm. While he was still half-awake, he brushed it with his fingers. For the second time, he felt those hairs that barely existed. Prairie grass in the sun. He fell asleep, and dreamed of spring.
The End
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