I was certain that it planned to feast on my flesh. And there was little I could do to stop it.
And then one of the men appeared out of nowhere. He laughed as he towered over me, blocking me from the sun. It was the thicker one. Mercifully, he pulled the beast back by the scruff of his neck.
“Up,” he commanded, although that’s what I think he said. I finally lowered my arms from my face, breathing so hard that my chest threatened to split open. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the beast. I feared him more than the strangely dressed man. The beast looked back at me uneasily with golden eyes, his yelps reduced to a soft growl, as if waiting for me to flee again.
At first I thought the beast was a coyote. But it was no coyote that I’d ever seen. I’d seen plenty when they ventured into our village searching for discarded bones and meat scraps. Coyotes never scared me; they were too small. But this beast was bigger and broader across the haunches, and its paws were as big as my palms. The man, remarkably, patted the animal’s head and stroked the back of its grey coat like they were old friends. The beast finally stopped growling and licked the man’s hand with a long pink tongue before it nuzzled its snout against his knee.
“Lobo,” the man said to me.
I watched him numbly.
“Lobo,” he said again, nodding to the beast.
“Lobo,” I finally whispered. It was a name I’d never forget. I blinked, unable to look away from the beast. Lobo was a word I recognized, although until that moment I thought that wolves were only found in Yuma’s stories.
Chapter Six
I had never been a prisoner before, although I guessed that’s what I was. Why else would the man tie my hands?
With a thin piece of cotton rope, he took my hands into his rough ones and wrapped the rope three times around my wrists until my skin burned. I wanted to cry out but I didn’t. What would crying accomplish?
With my hands tied in front of me, the man and his wolf led me back to where we had left the other two men and the deerskin sacks.
The men were standing when we returned, paying me scant attention. They moved between the sacks with a sense of urgency and purpose. They’ve done this before. Traveling. Lots of times. I could tell.
One of them, the shorter man, stood alongside three enormous animals that I had never seen before in all my life. Like me, they were tethered to the man with a long, dark rope. Were they prisoners, too?
I stopped walking at the mere sight of them, afraid that they could charge at me like the wolf. The ropes hardly seemed a deterrent to beasts their size. One was as wide as a pit house. All three were taller than even the tallest man among them.
When I stopped to gawk, the thick man pushed me forward and said, “Horse.”
“Horse?” I whispered, although I said it like a question. Horse was not a word I’d heard before, not even in the old stories told by Yuma or Ituha. It was a strange word that hissed through my teeth, like a deep exhale. There were no horses in my village, only deer that we hunted in the mountains. It would have been as easy to put a rope around the neck of a deer as it would to catch a lightning bolt in the sky.
I assumed the men would eat the beasts, maybe one of them, but it seemed like too much meat for three people—four, if they planned to feed me. The horses were muscled across the chest with silky coats, reddish brown like my skin and blue-black like a night sky. It didn’t seem possible that their four skinny legs could support their bellies. Yet I wondered what the meat would taste like, especially as my stomach growled. Would it be dry like deer meat or greasy like rabbit?
I was surprised that instead of butchering one of the horses, the third man, the tall one with the scar across his mouth, began to hoist deerskins atop their broad backs. One of the horses made an anxious, high-pitched screeching sound as its long snout snorted into the cool air. It had strange,
And then one of the men appeared out of nowhere. He laughed as he towered over me, blocking me from the sun. It was the thicker one. Mercifully, he pulled the beast back by the scruff of his neck.
“Up,” he commanded, although that’s what I think he said. I finally lowered my arms from my face, breathing so hard that my chest threatened to split open. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the beast. I feared him more than the strangely dressed man. The beast looked back at me uneasily with golden eyes, his yelps reduced to a soft growl, as if waiting for me to flee again.
At first I thought the beast was a coyote. But it was no coyote that I’d ever seen. I’d seen plenty when they ventured into our village searching for discarded bones and meat scraps. Coyotes never scared me; they were too small. But this beast was bigger and broader across the haunches, and its paws were as big as my palms. The man, remarkably, patted the animal’s head and stroked the back of its grey coat like they were old friends. The beast finally stopped growling and licked the man’s hand with a long pink tongue before it nuzzled its snout against his knee.
“Lobo,” the man said to me.
I watched him numbly.
“Lobo,” he said again, nodding to the beast.
“Lobo,” I finally whispered. It was a name I’d never forget. I blinked, unable to look away from the beast. Lobo was a word I recognized, although until that moment I thought that wolves were only found in Yuma’s stories.
Chapter Six
I had never been a prisoner before, although I guessed that’s what I was. Why else would the man tie my hands?
With a thin piece of cotton rope, he took my hands into his rough ones and wrapped the rope three times around my wrists until my skin burned. I wanted to cry out but I didn’t. What would crying accomplish?
With my hands tied in front of me, the man and his wolf led me back to where we had left the other two men and the deerskin sacks.
The men were standing when we returned, paying me scant attention. They moved between the sacks with a sense of urgency and purpose. They’ve done this before. Traveling. Lots of times. I could tell.
One of them, the shorter man, stood alongside three enormous animals that I had never seen before in all my life. Like me, they were tethered to the man with a long, dark rope. Were they prisoners, too?
I stopped walking at the mere sight of them, afraid that they could charge at me like the wolf. The ropes hardly seemed a deterrent to beasts their size. One was as wide as a pit house. All three were taller than even the tallest man among them.
When I stopped to gawk, the thick man pushed me forward and said, “Horse.”
“Horse?” I whispered, although I said it like a question. Horse was not a word I’d heard before, not even in the old stories told by Yuma or Ituha. It was a strange word that hissed through my teeth, like a deep exhale. There were no horses in my village, only deer that we hunted in the mountains. It would have been as easy to put a rope around the neck of a deer as it would to catch a lightning bolt in the sky.
I assumed the men would eat the beasts, maybe one of them, but it seemed like too much meat for three people—four, if they planned to feed me. The horses were muscled across the chest with silky coats, reddish brown like my skin and blue-black like a night sky. It didn’t seem possible that their four skinny legs could support their bellies. Yet I wondered what the meat would taste like, especially as my stomach growled. Would it be dry like deer meat or greasy like rabbit?
I was surprised that instead of butchering one of the horses, the third man, the tall one with the scar across his mouth, began to hoist deerskins atop their broad backs. One of the horses made an anxious, high-pitched screeching sound as its long snout snorted into the cool air. It had strange,
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