Page 77 of Unforgettable
A pond lay below them, fed by a narrow waterfall that slipped over stone with a quiet, steady rhythm. Trees framed the space, their branches dipping low, offering shade and a sense of quiet protection.
Randi drew in a slow breath.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
He watched her, not the water.
“I thought you’d like it.”
They dismounted slowly, Brew helping her with tender care without making her feel like she needed it. She was appreciative as her pelvic and thigh muscles stiffened from the ride.
Brew spread out a flannel blanket while Randi emptied the insulated bag of cheese, sliced fruit, bread, and wine. The bottles of water set aside for later.
Brew popped open the bottle of wine and half-filled two hard plastic glasses.
They settled near the opposite edge of the pond to benefit from the shade of a massive oak.
For a while, neither spoke.
They didn’t need to.
The quiet between them wasn’t empty, it was full of everything they were still learning how to say.
Then movement caught her eye. At first, she thought it was the wind. Then -
Horses.
“Oh! Oh!,” she pointed excitedly.
Brew placed his point finger to his lips and spoke softly.
“Shh. Softly, so you don’t spook them.”
They appeared gradually, emerging from the tree line in small groups, their presence commanding but unhurried. There was a mixture of duns, bays, roans, palomino’s, buckskins – and primitive markings to set them apart – they were spotted, some with tiger-striped legs, cobwebbing on their faces, as dark as the blackest night, or brown like caramel. They were a sight to behold.
Mares stepping forward first, cautious but unafraid, followed by foals that stayed close, nudging, nursing, learning.
Randi leaned forward slightly, completely drawn in and captivated.
“Do they come here often?” she asked softly.
“Every day,” Brew said. “It’s one of their main water sources.”
A small foal stumbled briefly, pressing closer to its mother, and something in Randi’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
“They’re… beautiful,” she whispered.
“They’re part of my father’s people,” he continued. “The Crow—Apsáalooke. This land… these animals… they’re tied together. They always have been.”
“I thought mustangs came with the Spanish,” she said.
“They did,” he replied. “But they didn’t survive alone. Tribes like the Crow learned them, bred them, protected them. They became part of their lives.”
Randi was beside herself. She had an uncontrollable desire to capture them on canvas.
“My father says they carry memory,” Brew added. “Not justinstinct. Memory of where they came from… and who kept them alive.”
I want to capture that, she proclaimed quietly.
