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Post by [esperanza] on Aug 25, 2009 12:20:19 GMT -5
In the retreating light of sunset, the land was painted red. As far as the eye could see, the desert lands stretched out in an endless, flat plain of red sand, broken only by dark, dull reddish sagebrush and low-growing cacti. Tall, jagged red cliffs rose out of the land, and at their base grew short, thorny trees, and strange red boulders that looked like alien sculptures. And under the shelter of these red cliffs camped a human soldier and his red horse.
The human boy (or man, it was hard to tell his age--hidden under the scars of western life were the fresh feautures of youth) was currently wrapped in a sleeping bag that he had just crawled into. His horse, a rather pretty young chestnut mare, was hitched some short distance away, but she was far from sleeping. This land was new and exciting to her, and she was intent on etching every nook and cranny of this strange country into her memory. It was beautiful. The land bore no resemblance to the lush forested swampland that she used to call home, and while they weren't far from her new home, the land seemed just so much more alive without the walls and fences to hold it in. It went on forever, free, wild, untamable. The well-bred mare would never even think about calling herself wild, but there was something alluring about the empty plains.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, and the chestnut's skin crawled with excitement. Trent, the human, rolled over in his sleeping bag. Her ears flicked back toward him. The two had left civilization together to hunt Indians. The mare slowly blinked her warm brown eyes, trying to figure out what in the world an Indian could possibly be. She had never heard the term before. But she didn't worry herself for too long with figuring it out. She was just glad that she had gotten a chance to go out on the trail.
Her thoughts returned to the desert, and she wondered how long it would stay that way. Railroads were beginning to criss cross the west, and along the railways, towns popped up, and where towns popped up, ranches and mines would inevitably follow. The mare had listened to her mother tell of the scars that humankind had left on the land, from stories that her grandparents and great-grandparents had related. Perhaps, right now, she was looking at the last of the wilds.
The thought sent a chill throughout her body. No, no! This land was free, it could never be tamed...right?
Sense returned to the mare, and she tossed her head with indignation. She was beginning to think like a mustang. No, that wouldn't do. She was a well-bred horse, perfect under saddle, and man was her friend. So what if man wanted to tame the wilds? Surely they had good reasons.
Despite her reason, the mare still strained against her rope, her eyes scanning the land in the fading light, hoping never to forget the rugged beauty of this land.
The human boy (or man, it was hard to tell his age--hidden under the scars of western life were the fresh feautures of youth) was currently wrapped in a sleeping bag that he had just crawled into. His horse, a rather pretty young chestnut mare, was hitched some short distance away, but she was far from sleeping. This land was new and exciting to her, and she was intent on etching every nook and cranny of this strange country into her memory. It was beautiful. The land bore no resemblance to the lush forested swampland that she used to call home, and while they weren't far from her new home, the land seemed just so much more alive without the walls and fences to hold it in. It went on forever, free, wild, untamable. The well-bred mare would never even think about calling herself wild, but there was something alluring about the empty plains.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, and the chestnut's skin crawled with excitement. Trent, the human, rolled over in his sleeping bag. Her ears flicked back toward him. The two had left civilization together to hunt Indians. The mare slowly blinked her warm brown eyes, trying to figure out what in the world an Indian could possibly be. She had never heard the term before. But she didn't worry herself for too long with figuring it out. She was just glad that she had gotten a chance to go out on the trail.
Her thoughts returned to the desert, and she wondered how long it would stay that way. Railroads were beginning to criss cross the west, and along the railways, towns popped up, and where towns popped up, ranches and mines would inevitably follow. The mare had listened to her mother tell of the scars that humankind had left on the land, from stories that her grandparents and great-grandparents had related. Perhaps, right now, she was looking at the last of the wilds.
The thought sent a chill throughout her body. No, no! This land was free, it could never be tamed...right?
Sense returned to the mare, and she tossed her head with indignation. She was beginning to think like a mustang. No, that wouldn't do. She was a well-bred horse, perfect under saddle, and man was her friend. So what if man wanted to tame the wilds? Surely they had good reasons.
Despite her reason, the mare still strained against her rope, her eyes scanning the land in the fading light, hoping never to forget the rugged beauty of this land.
