Red Hawk Ridge

These woods are littered with the bones of those who could not survive alone. They are a grim reminder that my journey through life here in the wilderness is futile. Clan-less, with no one to help me bear the burdens I face every day, I will inevitably succumb to the weight of the forest bearing down on my shoulders.

Unless there is a miracle to be had, today could be my last day on earth.

After all these years, did I really think that I could outrun my fate? Exile is considered a death sentence. I should have never thought I could be an exception to that rule. Human, we may be, but we are pack creatures. Only the rare few lone wanderers survive long, but even they succumb in the end to waste away into the earth. Arden is my only saving grace to my sanity, but as compassionate as she is, she isn’t human.

“This stream is dried out too,” I say weakly, patting the bay horse’s chestnut side more to comfort myself than her. I look forlornly at the winding sand pit that was flowing with water a mere week ago. The summer heat has intensified over the last few days, sucking up the last dregs of moisture from my usual watering holes.

Arden snorts into my sun-bleached hair affectionately with her black snout, mussing it up even more than it already is. Her action does not help ease my belly’s tight swelling of anxiety—not like it usually would. It has been three days since we have had anything to drink, and we won’t make it another day like this. The effects of dehydration started a day ago and have only intensified since. The fatigue is terrible, but I can ignore it for now. The dizziness and confusion are becoming crippling—not to mention dangerous. My inhibited sense of direction has had us walking in circles for hours, needlessly expending more energy and draining what fluids remain in our bodies.

Guilt is driving me forward. Guilt at having failed my friend. She has followed me for so long, always trusting I know what I am doing, trusting there will be food and water—but there isn’t.

Finding the creek was supposed to be the help we desperately needed. But there has been no rain in the last month, and the mid-summer heat is torturous. The forest has become brown and crunchy, and even the deep-rooted oaks are suffering along with the rest of us. No amount of digging will render any water. Not before I die of a heat stroke, anyway.

The only surefire way to get water is from a well, but the deep wells that never run dry are only found inside villages, protected by walls and guards. Without a clan mark, they won’t let me through the gate. A burn mark now resides on my chest instead of my key to unlimited water. It tingles at the thought, and I grit my teeth, regretting my past choices.

Clan members mark themselves with tattoos on their faces, necks, or chests for easy identification, but the burn scar marks me as the exile I am, forbidding me from entering any village, friend, or foe. Only neat black ink of the right design gets you through the gates, not deformed flesh. The same goes for horses.

I say I found Arden three years ago after she narrowly escaped a roundup of wild horses on the planes by the encroaching power that has taken over the region, but she really found me. She was no Mustang, but wild nonetheless after years of her ancestors surviving the after-effects of the Great War, and yet she could sense my need for a companion.

Downtrodden, alone, and injured, she took me as one of her own. Her compassion helped me heal, prolonging a life I thought was over. I owe her everything, but I can give her nothing but myself.

Arden nips at the dried branches of dead plants on the bank, finding nothing green to munch on. She lets out a displeased grumble, and I drop my head in shame for my inability to give her what she needs.

Distraught by our lack of water, I sit down on the dry sandbar of the stream, digging my fingers into the hot, white powder. I imagine cool water running languidly over my legs, and leaning my head backward, I soak in the sunlight filtering through the tree canopy above me. Life would be grand if only it weren’t so hot and dry.

The distraction of my daydream is fleeting. The sand under me has been heating in the sun all morning. It is quickly becoming unbearably hot on the back of my leather-clad legs, and the sun is searing on my face. I would give almost anything for some relief from the oppression of this cursed weather.

With an unsatisfied huff, I push myself off the ground and drag my feet back to Arden. She waits patiently, watching me with eyes that hold more wisdom than any animal should. The ground beneath her feet shows signs of her snout, trying to scout out any sign of water, but to no avail.

The mare is pushing on, but I have not been blind to her waning strength over the last day. I made peace with the prospect of my inevitable death a long time ago, but the idea of losing my best friend somehow hurts more than my own impending end.

My eyes burn at the thought of losing my most precious friend, but I am too dehydrated to conjure up tears. I whimper dryly, burying my face in her ebony mane. She wraps her head around me, her form of a hug, and my hands automatically encircle her neck, holding her to me. She lets me as she always has.

It is the sound of footsteps that pulls us apart.

I turn toward the sound, pulling my dagger, my only weapon, out of the sheath hanging from my belt. Arden, bless her soul, is smart enough to remain quiet, and I follow the sound of the footsteps through the forest with my eyes, waiting for someone to appear. The sound stops momentarily, and the knots of anxiety in my belly roll like thunderclouds in a high wind.

After a breathtaking moment, the footsteps continue, fading into the distance. From my experience, the threat people pose is worse than dying of thirst. At least I can do the latter in peace.

Undesirable memories try to resurface from previous encounters with humans, but Arden nips at the linen fabric of my hood draped over my shoulders to protect my arms from the sun, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Let’s carry on then,” I say in a muted voice, not to be heard by our fellow forest rat.

Settling into a slow, lumbering pace, our feet heavy from exhaustion and dehydration, we follow the creek so we don’t get lost again. Despite the threat of someone discovering our footprints, we stay in the creek bed, avoiding the worst of the heavy brush and thorns to conserve our energy.

After hours of following the creek, I have lost focus, unaware of my surroundings—a very dangerous thing, but I cannot help it. It’s one of the many side effects of my body beginning to shut down. Around a sharp bend, a large, yellowing Willow tree comes into view. It is dying along with the rest of us, but the dry tendrils of leaves hang over the creek, casting some shade.

This is a nice place to die, I think quietly to myself. I shouldn’t let that mindset take hold, but thinking straight is getting harder and harder, and I am losing hope.

Arden stops walking as the Willow tree shade covers us and flops down against the creek bank. Maybe she has the same thoughts. If only I could read her mind. I sink into her side as she finally gives up and lays her head down. I am too tired to feel anything other than a hollow numbness, but I know without a miracle, neither of us will ever get up again.

---

The pitter-patter of raindrops on my face coaxes me back to the edge of consciousness. I’m not sure how, but I force my eyes open. They are dry and painful, but—

“Water!” I cry out with a rasping voice, sitting upright painfully. My muscles are stiff, and my body protests at the slightest movement, but what we need now falls from the sky. After all this time, at the last moment, the sky has given way to water, and there isn’t even a cloud in the sky.

My sudden movement startles Arden from her slumber, and she painstakingly lifts her head to look at me, checking to see what is happening. I rifle through my knapsack, fingers fumbling through my meager belongings, desperate for something to catch any amount of water in. The small, hammered metal bowl I use to cook my food over campfires isn’t big, but it is something.

I cannot raise my arms over my head, let alone stand, so I gingerly sit the bowl on the ground outside the Willow’s coverage. Arden and I watch with bated breath and unfocused eyes as drop after drop collects, slowly filling the bowl at an agonizing rate.

Unable to wait for it to fill to the top, I offer the bowl to Arden. It feels wrong to take the first drink, and I silently pray that the rain lasts long enough for me to wet my tongue properly. The few drops I can catch on my tongue only worsen my thirst. She gently drinks as if she knows how precious the liquid is, careful not to spill even a drop. I set it back down when it’s empty and wait for more.

At the halfway point, the rain stops, and I drink deeply, finding the bottom of the bowl far too soon. The rainwater is tangy but refreshing as it pours over my parched tongue. The small amount is enough to make my stomach twist with cramps. I begin to wonder if all I did was prolong our agony before the bottom drops out of the sky, saturating everything in seconds. The rain cools my overheated skin, dry and tender from the lack of sweat, and I sigh in blessed relief. I cannot help the astonished chuckle that escapes me as Arden lifts her head to the sky, opening her mouth to drink in the deluge. I follow her lead.

With every gulp, I can feel my strength returning, and in minutes, I stand up, spinning around with joy as our saving grace falls from the sky. Not long after, Arden follows, prancing in place and neighing with excitement. Our feet are quickly covered in mud, squelching as we dance, but it doesn’t stop us.

After moments of bliss, I return to my senses and hastily place the bowl back on the ground. The rain fills it quickly this time, and I carefully pour our boon into my dry canteen. After three more bowls, the leather water skin is nearly bursting. I want to drink deeply from the bowl again, but I know after all this time without water, if I overindulge, I will vomit it all back up. Then I will be worse off than I was before. The same goes for Arden.

It seems like such a waste without anything else to store water in, but I remind myself that the creek benefits as much from this as we have. I lead Arden out of the creek bed as the water starts to rise slowly, and just like that, all the anxiety from earlier vanishes. Relief washes over me, and tears fall down my face, quickly washed away by the rain. We have survived another day against the odds weighed in favor of our deaths, and I will be content with that.

The End

©️Emma Lee Joy
All Rights Reserved.