zaia

Movement below catches the red run’s eye, and she stares at the stark landscape until she’s certain the motion belongs to a horse. “Yes!” Zaia says, and starts her way down from the top of the ridge. She feels like a goat as she picks her way across loose stones on the narrow path, and it takes her longer than she likes to reach the base of the ridge. Impatient, Zaia leaps off the face of the ridge when she is a foot or so away from the level ground below her and trots toward the withered tree that offers paltry shade to the horse below it.

Zaia hopes it is a stallion —she wants to meet a tall, strong, and handsome male someday to sweep her off her hooves— but when she discovers a mare is the source of the movement she is not disappointed. There is time enough later to fall in love and go on grand adventures with a brave and competent stallion. Zaia is content with whatever company she happens to find on her lonely travels. “Hey!” she says, because as far as she’s concerned the palomino can sleep later, like when she’s not around. At four years old, the Kiger mustang is both headstrong and selfish. She reaches forward to poke the mare’s shoulder with her nose. “Wake up!”