“She Who Rides Horses” explores a young woman’s dreamlike search for a wild filly

Naya rose to her feet, blue eyes intent on the horizon. It didn’t matter that she might be seen — the herd was too far away to take flight. She could just make out their individual shapes, moving slowly, partially obscured by the tall waving grasses. A small dun-colored stallion and four dun-colored mares foraged, making gradual progress in a westerly direction toward a low line of hills. Three of the mares were accompanied by foals, all of them born several moons earlier, just after the steppe winds changed to the south and the weather warmed. The fourth mare was shadowed by a two-year old filly. Looking into the setting sun, the horses were hard for the girl to distinguish against the pale gold of the drying grasses. All except the filly. Her red-gold coat, lit by the sun’s last rays, stood out like a flame against the browns and yellows of the surrounding landscape. Naya reached up to rub a lock of her own coarse hair between thumb and finger. It was almost exactly the same startling shade of copper as the filly. Turning to go back the way she had come, the girl cast one last glance at the disappearing herd. Tomorrow she would be back, with a rope…

UNDERWRITTEN BY

Each week, The Colorado Sun and Colorado Humanities & Center For The Book feature an excerpt from a Colorado book and an interview with the author. Explore the SunLit archives at coloradosun.com/sunlit.

To everyone else in Naya’s world, wild horses represented a valuable resource, providing her people with meat, bones, hide, and sinew. More abundant than the bison, deer and saiga antelope who also roamed the vast grasslands, they were the hunters’ preferred quarry, easier to herd into confined spaces where they made prime targets for the hunters’ spears. But Naya had a different thought, a desire that came from deep within the center of her being. She wanted to touch the red filly. She wanted to run her hands through the unusual coat, so similar to her own head of flaming hair – and she wanted to do this thing with the consent of the warm and breathing animal, not just handle a lifeless pelt…

It was long after noon the next day before Naya was at last able to slip away. This time she was better prepared. In a deer skin bag slung over one shoulder she carried flint tools and kindling for making fire, a flint knife and enough food to last a day, as well as a full water skin. Over the other shoulder was coiled a long length of braided rawhide, strong enough, she hoped, to restrain the filly…

She found the little band at dusk, when the sun’s afterglow cast blackening shadows across the landscape. She had just gained the top of a small rise and could see for some distance, despite the gathering darkness. There they were — blurred shapes silhouetted against the next range of hills. Succeeding ridges gained in height, verdant meadows giving way to forested slopes, behind which the sun had disappeared. The horses had led her to the edge of the grasslands…

Naya shivered in the rapidly cooling air. The horses appeared to have stopped for the evening. The mares’ heads hung low, muzzles almost touching the ground in deep relaxation and she could make out several darker shapes that must be the foals, lying in the grass at their feet. Only the stallion stood alert, scenting the air for danger before dropping his head to grab a few mouthfuls of grass. Moments later, his head lifted again, keen eyes scanning the landscape. 

Naya settled herself in the deep grass and rested her folded arms atop her knees. From her vantage on the rise downwind from the small band, she could sit and keep watch without arousing suspicion… Eventually, cheek resting on her forearms, she closed her eyes, and slept…

At some point later in the night, she thought she awoke. Lifting her head from her folded arms, she checked the herd. They were as they’d been before, dozing in the lee of the hillside across from the rise where she sat. Even the stallion had relaxed his vigilance and stood with his head lowered. The full moon now rode high in the sky, bright enough to cast faint shadows. As Naya’s eyes adjusted to the night, the moon’s light illuminated a faint track leading down the rise at an angle from where the horses rested. She hadn’t noticed it before. 

Rising, Naya moved as silently as she could, following the path in the moonlight. Soon, she found herself ascending another small rise, then descending, then rising again, until at last she stood at the edge of a ravine. Below, she could see a stream, shining in the moonlight, gurgling quietly as it flowed over its stony bed… Slipping and sliding, Naya made her way down the steep slope, scratching her skin against sharp rocks and thorny underbrush. At last she reached the bottom and looked around her. Along the ravine’s floor, smooth white stones marked the water course… Drawn onward, Naya followed the path upstream into a grove of trees. 

There, a wondrous sight met her eyes. Oaks and birches encircled a small pool of water, fed by an underground spring. Reflected in the pool’s clear, still surface was the round orb of the moon, casting its light from high above the rocky cliffs which formed the pool’s backdrop. Beside the pool stood the red filly, burnished coat softly aglow. Naya froze, rooted as if she were one of the trees, and stared. The filly, startled by the girl’s approach, stared back. Neither moved. Eventually, Naya remembered to breathe. In the next moment, she realized that she had left her rope, along with everything else she’d brought with her, back on the rise. Still, she and the filly stood motionless, looking at one another. 

In that moment, Naya’s senses underwent an almost imperceptible shift; the moonlight became just a little brighter, the stream’s murmur became just a little louder, the slight breeze rustling the leaves in the trees became just a little fresher against her skin. In the next moment, she seemed to feel the filly’s thoughts.

I will grant your heart’s desire, but only if you are able to grant mine. The musical voice resonated within the core of Naya’s being, even though no sound other than the splash of flowing water and whisper of the wind in the trees disturbed the silence of the grove. What is your heart’s desire?

Awestruck, Naya could only gaze back at the young horse, who now regarded her with luminous dark eyes in which fear had given way to curiosity. Finally, she found her own voice. “I wish to be with you,” she said simply. “I wish to touch your coat.” Then, from deep inside, another longing welled up, a yearning so audacious she almost couldn’t bring herself to speak. Hesitatingly, she uttered the words. “I wish,” she said, “to ride upon your back.”

Ah, the red filly seemed to reply, if this is indeed your deepest desire, then you must see with the eyes of your heart and create ties without the use of a rope. And when you have succeeded in granting my heart’s desire, then shall yours be granted also.

Before Naya could begin to ponder the meaning of the words, the filly brushed past her in a chestnut blur and was gone, disappearing through the trees toward the mouth of the ravine. Gazing after her, Naya shook her head, as if to clear her senses. Water still flowed in the creek and a breeze still rustled among the leaves. The moon still cast its dim glow — but the moment of utter clarity had vanished, just as suddenly as the young horse. Shaking herself again, as if awakening from a dream, Naya retraced her steps to the mouth of the ravine. There was no sign of the red filly… 

By the time she was ready to give up trying to find her way back to the featureless rise where she’d left her things, dawn still showed no sign of illuminating the eastern sky. Naya stopped at the top of a small hill. Better to wait until daylight and get her bearings. Besides, her hide boots were soaked from wading in the stream and needed time to dry. Her feet felt icy as she stripped the boots off and laid them beside her. Making a nest for herself in the tall grass and saying a brief prayer to her guardian spirits for protection, Naya curled herself into a ball and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Much later, she awoke to the sounds of strong teeth rhythmically cropping the grass on the hillside just below her resting place. With a start, she opened her eyes and sat up. In that instant, the small band of horses took flight, streaming down the slope and up the next shallow incline, where they wheeled abruptly and came to a halt, eyes intent on the creature who had materialized so unexpectedly out of the grass.  Next to one of the dun-colored mares stood the red filly. 

Without thinking, Naya rose to her feet, sending the small herd fleeing once again. Within moments, they had been swallowed by the vastness of the steppe. A surge of wild excitement was immediately replaced with bitter disappointment, followed by concern as Naya remembered her predicament. Where were her things? Only then did she take stock of her surroundings. There, partially concealed by the grass at her feet, lay her deerskin bag and her rawhide rope. Somehow, miraculously, she’d found her way in the dark back to where she’d started… or had she?

Maybe she’d never left her watching post on the rise and all the rest was a dream, or some kind of vision.. Absently, still preoccupied by what may or may not have happened the night before, she reached to put on her boots which lay on the grass beside her, drying in the morning sun. 

Sarah V. Barnes is both an historian and a horsewoman. When she is not writing stories, she practices and teaches riding as a meditative art and also offers equine-facilitated coaching and wellness workshops. Sarah holds a Ph.D. in history from Northwestern University and spent many years as a college professor before turning full-time to riding and writing. She has two grown daughters and lives with her husband, her dogs, and her horses near Boulder. Find more at www.sarahvbarnes.com