Winter's End and Wild Herds

March 1, 2024

Skye walked into the tack room to find the towering life-sized sculpture The Bremen Town Singers by Kitty Cantrell in the middle of the floor. 

"Hey! What's this doing here?"

"Getting ready to be shipped to Washington."

"It sold?"

"It did."
Skye ran her hands along the blue ticked hound.

"That's so cool. And...I'm gonna miss this doggie-o. I think this is the best thing I ever painted."

"Well, then I guess we better paint some more things."

March 3
The rain had stopped. The sky was dynamic, with bits of blue sky swallowed in seconds by dark clouds. Skye pressed forward, the sound of horses just ahead, and Grace forever falling behind.  The girls pressed themselves against the rock face as they approached the wild horses on foot, trying to stay out of sight for as long as possible.

"Am I stepping on Dudleya?" Skye whispered.

"No, I think that's some sort of buckwheat. Carry on."

They found a ringside seat to watch the action, but they were rather exposed, and not holding the high ground.

The commotion was Storm and Rain Man, and appearing a few moments later, The Newcomer. 

The two big stallions were more or less always sparring. When Rain Man spun around to use body weight against Storm, it became evident that the three bachelors had company...the dark mare with the grulla foal that had previously been with Petrichor. And unlikely as it was, the smaller, younger stallion was the one by her side.

None of which made any sense. The girls watched, speechless, as the horses milled about, moving ever closer.

"We're a little close for comfort" Grace whispered.  

After a few uneasy moments out in the open, and quite close to the stallions, the girls pulled back, retreating the way they came.

"That's the mare and foal that turned up with Petrichor, right?" Skye asked. "She came along right after the black mare, Thorn."

"Yes." 

Skye was expecting more than a one word response.

"Grace are you okay?"

"I'm slightly dizzy."

"Like fainting dizzy?"

"No, I'm not going to faint. Or fall. I'm good, everything's good."

"Well" Skye continued, "I totally have no clue what we just witnessed."

"Me neither."

Back in the warmth of home, the girls tried to make sense of the scene that had unfolded in front of them.

"What color do you think that mare is?" Skye pondered.

"I'm not sure. She's so dark. But not jet black. She could be a grulla, a super dark grulla...but grulla is kind of like roan, it's a mix of light and dark hair. She looks almost blue. Like maybe she's a dark blue roan. But again, where's the white hair?"

"Do you think she's related to the dun stallion?" Skye asked, and then, "No, wait. I have a hypothesis."

"Let's hear it."

"She's not related to any of them and neither is her foal so she has to protect it, you know, in case a stallion comes after it because it's not his foal. So she's hanging close to the young stallion because he's probably less of a threat than the bigger, older ones."

Grace thought about it for a few moments before she answered.

"Skye that is as good of an explanation for what we witnessed as any I could think of. I'm baffled about the whole thing. Where are these dark horses coming from...and where are all the horses we're familiar with? Where's Petrichor?"

March 10
Frost colored the landscape white, giving in to green with the sun's first rays. Somewhere on the slopes above, a deer sounded with a warning snort, then vanished into the chaparral.

The grass was thick, the ground saturated, rivulets of water were everywhere.
The sound of moving water softened the beat of soggy hooves, both wild and domestic

They saw the foals first.


The wild herd was relaxed. For the first time in memory, Crazy looked unruffled, and unaware of their presence.

The mare they called Lady Godiva was playing with the foals. 

Grace motioned soundlessly to Skye. The girls turned north, away from Crazy's band, leaving them in peace.

They searched the winter landscape for signs of Petrichor's band.

They rode past the draw where once Petrichor had left his herd to come and greet Grace. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

They headed back through the boulder-strewn landscape where the wild horses often came in the summer months, perhaps to enjoy the shade of the canyons, perhaps to catch insect-relieving breezes, or perhaps for some reason the girls might never know. But the land was bare of wild horses.

Back at home, a box awaited them on the table.

"What do you think it is?" Skye asked.
"I don't know" Grace responded, "but it's the same box your Christmas present came in. We definitely know how to recycle around here."

"So you don't have any idea what it is?"

"Nope. But it seems like most of these packages are for you. So go ahead and open it."

Skye made short work of revealing the contents.
"Oh yeah. It's for me."

"You were never good as a liar. Let me see what's in there."

 In the box were pewter horses.  Volo and Pimento, a mustang mare and foal sculpted by Maggie Bennett.  Skye was particularly enamored with the foal.  Skye was silent for a long time before she finally spoke. 

"Wow."

Grace nodded, silent. Wow, indeed.
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