We the People
A short story
By
KariAnn Ramadorai
Copyright 2013
Dedicated to
S. who wanted a bed time story about horses and to
The Cloud Foundation, fighting to keep horses free and on the range.
We the People
We’ve been wandering for days, following old trails into the mountains. My boy beside me struggles to keep up, but he never lags for long. Maybe another day or two of walking is all. I’ve been with this group for ages. We’re a family now. I can tell you their footsteps, their snores. Their smells. We’re a small group: some girls and our babies along with the one we call Old Soldier. He keeps us going, keeps us safe. We need to make it to a water source. We need higher ground. We need to stop pushing the month old babies up and down the hillsides. It’s hard to watch them play and know the thirst that’ll come cover us, the invasions we’ll be risking if we don’t keep moving.
We left our usual territory last week. Sunday knows the trail, so we follow her. She’s only a few days from having her own baby. Sunday’s been a pathfinder at least thirteen years. She’ll get us there. Old ones have ways. Sunday and Old Soldier are some of the oldest I’ve met.
We’re ready for anything, keeping our ears pricked for trouble. The closer we get to the meeting place, the only place with enough water for a bath this time of year, the more likely we are to meet an enemy. Everyone’s an enemy.
Brush snags at my heels as we crest another ridge. Over Sunday’s back, mountains soar, reaching for the clouds. Down this side then one more uphill slog. We’ll be there in no time. I can feel the cooling breeze already, and it excites my bones. I can do this. I’ll make it. If we’re lucky, we’ll be the first one’s there. We can melt the snow in our mouths and cool our ankles in the water. I half close my eyes, imagining a bath.
From the peak, we head down. Old Soldier leaves rear guard and paces up the line. Dust shoots out from below him as he descends fast. It’s hard to tell if he can’t stop himself or if he wants to be the first one out of the trees. We catch up in a few minutes. I keep my little boy close to me, waiting for the signal to move out from cover.
Abruptly, Sunday enters the sunlight. With nothing more than a twitch, she signals the Old Soldier. He pulls away from the group. Tells us to keep going, though we hear thunder in the distance that might be a storm, but it might be a helicopter. Heads down, we comply.
With the Old Soldier at her side, Sunday moves slowly into the valley. Soldier stops. He reassures us each with a touch to the shoulder. Then he ranges behind our group again.
The scent of water is in there air. I speed up, passing Sunday. She gives me a swat. I’ve overstepped my place. We can lose the way with all the paths we find at the top. I lower my head, no reason to make eye contact. I’ve lost my position. Now I’m right in front of the old Soldier on our way up the hill. It means I’ll be the last to drink. I lick my lips, thinking of the water ahead.
When we get there, it’s not water. The smell came off a small snow pile, deep under a cliff. Things must be bad that we could smell it from the other side of the valley. I’m just glad for the refreshment. We give Old Soldier the best position at the snow. It’s the only water source between our old home and the gathering spot. Everything else we’ve had was morning dew or came from fruits we found.
Everyone’s relaxed now that we’ve had a break. There’s not a lot of space on this side of the mountain. I guess that’s why the water pooled here. From the tracks, I can see a lot of animals have been through lately. Some big cat prints catch my eye. It might not be safe to stay the night. Sunday and Old Soldier must have been thinking the same thing.
Sunday’s stomach heaves, but she leads us up the hill. We’ll be on top of the plateau tomorrow. That’ll give us a real rest. From what I remember, there are nice places to find berries and some soft grass up there so we can rest. Even if we keep moving at the top, we’ll have a comfortable night’s sleep when we do stop.
Another afternoon’s walk and we’re close. That special giddiness passing the barrier of what I thought I could do takes over. At the top of the world, I pass out from the singing trees, into sunlight. We’re half way across the peak, when Soldier runs past me from the rear guard spot. He’s warm, passing calm as he moves around our perimeter. His eyes are bright. A solid presence as we cross the uncertain openness. Then I hear it. The pounding of hooves pounding the ground.
Trust the Soldier, I tell myself. Soldier takes care of us.
There are ten of them, all fiery and young. Anxious, but ready for a fight, they approached from the plateau’s far side. The bigger boys swat each other, egging their friends on while afraid to move on us themselves. Three big studs with more muscle than respect race toward the center of our group. We stick together, standing our ground. They stop short of attacking us.
Their position might distract Old Soldier, but they won’t take him out. They size up our guardian quietly. These three were the only ones brave enough to come out to face our Old Soldier. Their friends gathered behind, watching. I don’t expect much fight from them. We stand together. I watch, legs bunched for a run to the trees. Sunday will give us a signal if it’s time to run.
Gotta give the Old Soldier credit: he stands his ground against young warriors. He raises his head and shouts a warning.
We’re his responsibility, I remind myself. He won’t let anyone hurt the littles. Even on accident while they come after us. I can’t stop my body from getting ready, though. My boy can feel the tension. He presses up against my hip, waiting for my sign to him that we should move.
The reflex to run overtakes us all. Sunday’s gravid body streaks toward the tree line ahead. I nudge my boy. We follow as fast as he can run. We reach the scrubby trees near the center of the plateau. Turning, I watch the warriors. The young leader nods his head, taking Old Soldier’s challenge.
The young red-head feints his first blow from halfway down an embankment. He fell short. He has higher ground, but he’s new to war games. Old Soldier doesn’t fall for it. He goes for the neck, tackling his opponent out where he’s most vulnerable.
The uppity youngling screams. He’s bleeding from a wound the size of a maple leaf. He shakes it off and turns back to Old Soldier. A second, one with dark hair that waves behind him as he comes around for another go follows up the first attack. This assault is only for show. Even from this far away, I can see his heart isn’t in it. It’s all speed, no finesse. Soldier blocks him with a kick. Our attacker takes off, afraid to stay around.
Soldier stations himself between us and the gang, ensuring we move along unmolested.
The day’s hot. After the excitement, the long trudge to the snow reservoir puts me to sleep on my feet. We stop to feed the babies. By nightfall we’re back under trees. We find a spot to sleep near the edge of a cliff. It’s secure: open behind us and Soldier pacing in front. He lets his guard down for a few minutes to play with the little ones. We move aside as he passes through, thanking him without words. The Old Soldier nods as he passes. It’s not long before he’s back on duty.
Sunday lies on her side, resting her pregnant belly against the cool granite. Soldier sleeps briefly through the night he spends on watch.