Born to Run
The fur-covered, round-topped little building was horribly drafty. Everywhere on the northern plains was drafty, and Chaksa should have been used to it, but the chill always seemed to get to her more than it did to everyone else, stiffening her joints and making her tremble. Sitting in the temporary dwelling, peering out at the cold sunlight across the pale brown and green grasses through a crack in the flap that covered the "door", Chaksa pulled her fur-lined cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Her elbows, wrists, and shoulders all twinged uncomfortably at the movement, but she ignored them. She was used to it.
Scowling, Chaksa watched her younger brother, Sidok, and a few of the cousins around his age racing through the grass and laughing. He was only ten, two years younger than she was, but already he was taller, and easily stronger. Not that either trait took much doing, as Chaksa, at thirteen, wasn't even five feet tall and could hardly walk half the time. Perhaps she could bear even the indignity of a boy-child, a younger boy-child, her own little brother, beating her out in everything, if only she'd at least been able to function as a full member of the familial clan. Instead, however, she was half an invalid, unable to do anything but those duties which allowed her to be mounted on one of the group's many horses. Even then, though, changes in the weather and hard work made her arms fairly useless, as well, in a dismayingly short period of time, so she couldn't even rope and shoot.
All the damn cold wind didn't help matters any, either.
I'm not going to get any better sitting here and moping, Chaksa thought fiercely, grabbing her staff and using it to lever herself to her feet. Once standing she tottered a moment, panting as knees and hips protested painfully to the movement, but since she was hidden from the disgusted or pitying eyes of her clan, it was safe to cling to the stolid wood for support until the worst of the feeling had faded, leaving behind only a dull throbbing in her joints that could be easily ignored. She could find something to do, someplace to go, anything-- just moving around would keep her warm, and it was good to keep her joints moving, even if it hurt.
The biggest problem with the desire to forestall her bitter feelings was that there was simply nothing useful that she could do right now. The familial clan was at their temporary spring-to-autumn camping site, near the northern beaches but only close enough to reach them after a long, often chilly ride, waiting for the mares to mate or foal, depending on which had done which the year previous. They'd only arrived the day before and many things still needed to be set up. Most of the clan was busy finishing setting things up, and Chaksa should have been helping them, but there was nothing she could do. The long circuit around the island and back north again had left her more pained and weak than she usually was. Mating and foaling wasn't due to start for a couple weeks, once the weather started warming a little and the rest of the clan was settled enough to pay both herd events the attention they were due, so she couldn't even help with that like she liked to do. None of the mares looked heavy enough to drop early and surprise everyone, either.
I can at least look in on the herd, Chaksa told herself, refusing to let weakness and despair get the better of her. No daughter of the Halikas horse clan would ever give in to either flaw. No, Chaksa would just have to try harder. Wasn't the pain better now than it had been last year? Better than the year before? At least I can ride. At least I can walk!
Trying to take heart in that, the small girl straightened up as well as she could and moved slowly and deliberately from her family's empty summer-house, brushing the fur "door" aside and pausing just outside to let her eyes adjust to the brighter, clearer light. There were voices and the sounds of work and construction coming from virtually every direction as clan members built fences for the herd and homes for the humans. Young children screamed and laughed, running around and miraculously not getting in the way, and older ones helped their parents and other adults with whatever tasks they were busy with. From somewhere beyond the working sounds of the human efforts came the whinnies and hoof-stamping of the herd.
Chaksa looked over the growing cluster of furry domes briefly, just like the one she'd just emerged from, and frowned, confronted again with her own inadequacy. Just work harder and deal with it, she growled to herself, and took off for the edge of the temporary "village" at pace that only lasted three strides before she staggered, gasping in pain, and started again at a much more sedate speed, clutching at her staff in one hand but refusing to use it.
Despite the fact that going through the huts would have been much quicker, Chaksa walked around them all, taking the long and rather more painful route to the temporary pen the horses were confined to until the larger paddock was finished. Every step hurt, but pride made Chaksa keep her head high and her gait steady. Her mouth twitched as an uneven place in the ground jarred her, but she kept going, past the huts and working families. By the time she'd reached the far side of the paddock, where it was safe and no one could see her, she was shaking beneath her proud locked-muscled posture. Sagging against the nearest fence pole, she spent a long moment catching her breath and waiting for her joints to stop screaming and her muscles to unfreeze, squeezing her eyes shut so that she wouldn't cry.
Something soft and warm brushed her hair, and her eyes popped open, a couple rebellious tears clinging to her lashes and rolling down onto her nose. A large shadow loomed over her, but when her vision cleared, she could make out the deep brown fur of her gelding, Sampson, still shaggy from his winter coat and nuzzling her hair affectionately. He'd somehow maneuvered through the milling herd to reach her, and was probably hoping for some sugar, or maybe a good currying. Chaksa smiled, straightening with the help of the fence, and circled her arms around the big horse's lowered neck, just behind his ears. He snorted softly, but didn't otherwise move, as patient as ever.
Every member of the clan had one horse of their own, to ride when they traveled and to train from foalhood. Sampson was Chaksa's. Even when he was a colt, he had been big and strong, so Chaksa had named him after an old myth about a strong man named Sampson who never cut his hair. In keeping with the tradition, she had never cut his mane and tail, and though it made for more work on her part in his grooming, he'd at least never lost his power, even after he'd been deemed unfit for siring his own progeny and gelded. Too gentle for a warhorse, with an even gait and a sweet temperament, he and Chaksa had gotten along wonderfully ever since she'd been given him to train, and even though she hadn't been able to give him all the attention he deserved.
What do you think? she thought, freeing the gelding's neck and stroking his nose fondly. How about a little ride? Get away from all this for a while? Sampson whickered and butted his nose into her chest, making her laugh softly. "I'll take that as a yes," she said out loud, tugging gently on one of his ears until he snorted and shook his head, freeing himself.
It only took a moment for Chaksa to find one of the simple bridles her clan used and slip it over Sampson's head, easing the bit into his mouth, and led him slowly to the paddock's gate, through the shifting mass of the herd. The horses eyed her, moving carefully through them so as not to jar her bones any further, but moved out of her way as they always did, giving her just enough room to pass by with Sampson following sedately behind. They never jostled her, as if they knew how fragile she really was, unless they were truly in a panic, but they weren't like people, who made a special effort to be careful with her or disregarded her altogether. It was just another reason to prefer their company than the company of her own kind. It was hard for a horse to be condescending.
The latch undone, the gate swung inward-- a precaution against escape attempts-- and Chaksa led Sampson out, looping the twine latch shut again. She could mount up by climbing up onto the fence and sliding onto Sampson's broad back that way, with as little pain as possible without somehow training the gelding to lay down to accept her, and did so with a little sigh as she settled into place. If only I could stay up here forever, she thought wistfully before clicking softly to the gelding and applying the tiniest pressure to his sides with her knees, sending him into a gentle walk.
The good thing about riding was, once you were balanced, there was really very little work for your muscles to do, and your joints stayed fairly in place without having to move much-- unless your mount was particularly bouncy, or, as Chaksa had seen on the clan's travels to sell their horses, you were unaccustomed to riding. The former didn't matter in Sampson's case, for his ride was smooth enough for a baby to stay astride, and the latter was impossible for someone who lived all their life with horses. Chaksa, joint disease or no joint disease, had learned how to ride almost before she'd learned how to walk; she was a daughter of the Halikas horse clan, after all, even if she had trouble walking, shooting a bow, or carrying heavy things.
It wasn't long before Chaksa had left her clan, her bitterness, her pain, and Sampson's sedate pace behind, leaning over his neck as they raced across the plain, his black mane mingling with her own wild hair and her face set into a wild grin. This was what Chaksa lived for: the speed of the gallop, the headiness of freedom, the unity of mount and rider as they fairly flew across the open spaces of the world. Nothing hurt, now; she wasn't cold anymore; nothing reminded her of her stunted body or the shame of being less of a member of the clan and more of a burden. Horse and rider ran, heedless of whatever dangers there might be, lost in the joys of wind and earth racing by them.
It was thus that the Searchrider found them.