7
The horses became our salvation. They also became my first lesson in frustration.
But sadly my mother and Nara couldn't ride. Not really. They bounced, slide, fell. But they climbed back on, then fell right back off.
We walked until we seen a clearing then I was placed on the ground so they could practice. The first few days were painful to watch.
They bounced in the saddle, yanked at the reins when they should've loosened them, slid sideways, and hit the ground harder than the last time.
Then they climbed right back on, only to fall again.
Nara groaned as she rolled onto her back for what felt like the hundredth time. "I swear these demons hate me."
"They don't hate you," Unju said between tired breaths, trying and failing to hide her own laugh as she rubbed her bruised hip. "You're pullin' on the reins like you're tryin' to strangle 'em."
"I am trying to strangle 'em!" Nara snapped, glaring at the mare as it lazily chewed grass.
"She knows exactly what she's doing." The horse flicked an ear, utterly unimpressed.
Unju managed to climb back into the saddle before immediately sliding off the other side.
Nara couldn't help herself, A laugh escaped.
"Thought they didn't hate you?"
Unju lay in the grass for a long moment before laughing too. It hurt to laugh. Everything hurt.
Then silence settled over them. Nara stared at the horses. "What if we never learn?"
"We have to."
"But what if we don't?"
Unju looked toward the endless mountains stretching north. "Then we die before winter."
The words hung between them, no tears, no panic, just truth.
Nara lowered her head. "I don't even know where to put my feet."
"I don't either." Another silence.
Then Unju's eyes drifted back to the horses.
"...Tomorrow," she said quietly.
"We're wasting more energy falling than walking."
Unju rubbed another bruise forming along her thigh.
"Every day we spend like this, we're slower than if we'd just stayed on foot."
"So... what?"
Nara looked at the horses, then at her friend.
"You really think we can learn?"
"We have to."
"...That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
I knew exactly what they were doing wrong. Keep your weight centered. Relax your hips. Move with the animal.
The answers floated through my mind as naturally as breathing. The dead men had known horses.
They had spent years in saddles.
Years chasing people. Years hunting people that looked like my mother. Their memories lived inside me now.
Along with other things, ugly things. Every time the women fell, thoughts surfaced.
Weak. Too stupid to sit a horse, savages, animals.
I hated those thoughts they weren't mine. But they arrived anyway.
One memory after another one judgment after another. The dead men sneering, laughing. Belittling.
I watched as Nara hit the dirt for what felt like the hundredth time. The ugly thoughts returned immediately.
Of course she fell. Can't even...
Then she stood back up bruised, exhausted. Bleeding and climbed right back into the saddle, the thought died.
I watched Nara do the same again, and again, and again.
The dead men called them weak. But weak things gave up. These women never did. Every morning they would walk until they found a space were there was room enough to practice.
The contradiction confused me. The memories said one thing. Reality said another. Eventually I became determined to help. Which would have been easier if I could actually talk.
I knew how to ride. I knew how to hunt, to fight, to lead them out of this misery. The knowledge burned inside me like fire pressed against glass, but every attempt to speak cracked into nonsense.
"Ka..." I pointed. mom missed the meaning.
"Ba..." I pointed harder. Nothing. The horse shifted. The rider shifted wrong, I groaned.
"Beee...ll..." The word existed perfectly inside my head, balance. I knew every letter, every sound, every meaning. The sound was jagged, misshapen. My tongue and throat betrayed me.
The useless syllables wrenched hot tears from my eyes. I flailed, pointed at the saddles, at the horses' flanks, but my hands were tiny fists, my voice nothing but an infant's babble. All i could do was watch the people i loved failing, stumbling, bruising and know i could not save them.
I hate to say this but the frustration grew and grew until the only i did the only thing my tiny body was good at. I threw a tantrum but even through the tears my smile never faltered.
For a week, Unju and Nara did everything in their power to console me, but nothing worked.
Every morning, before the sun had fully climbed over the Appalachian peaks, they buried the ashes of the previous night's fire. Nara crushed the blackened wood beneath her boot while Unju scattered damp leaves and soil over the remains.
"More dirt," Unju whispered. "I can still smell the smoke."
"Ain't nobody smellin' that from miles away," Nara muttered, though she immediately knelt and added another handful.
"You don't know that."
Nara glanced toward the surrounding trees. "Neither do you."
That ended the argument, fear usually did.
They dismantled the tent, folded the blankets, and checked the ground for anything they might have dropped. No scraps. No thread. No tracks they could erase.
Nothing that might tell another person we had been there.
All the while, I cried. Unju bounced me against her shoulder as she worked, her lips brushing my forehead.
"Hush now, baby. Mama's here."
I tried to tell her that wasn't the problem. But it only frustrated me more, So I cried.
I tried to tell her she had tied the horses incorrectly. That the supplies needed to be balanced between them. That the prints near the water belonged to deer and could lead us to food.
What came out was a wet, furious wail.
Unju closed her eyes for a moment.
"I know," she whispered. "I know you're tired."
"He ain't tired," Nara said, tightening one of the straps across a horse's back. "He's mad."
Unju looked down at me. "Mad about what?"
I pointed toward the loose saddle.
Nara followed my hand and frowned. "The horse?"
I cried harder. My fists shook with frustration. Nara stared at me, then at Unju. "See? Mad."
"He's a baby."
"He's a strange baby."
Unju's expression sharpened.
Nara raised both hands. "I didn't say bad. Just strange."
Unju pressed me closer to her chest. Her heartbeat was fast, much faster than she wanted Nara to know.
"Nothing wrong with my boy."
"I know," Nara said more gently. "I know."
Then they walked, always north, always higher into the mountains.
They led the horses most of the day, only climbing into the saddles when exhaustion made walking impossible. Even then, they bounced, slipped sideways, and sometimes fell hard enough to knock the air out her lungs.
Nara landed on her back for the third time one afternoon and stared up through the trees.
"I hate these creatures."
The mare calmly chewed grass beside her.
Unju tried not to laugh. "You keep pulling too hard on the reins."
"I'm pulling because she won't listen."
"She won't listen because you're pulling."
"That don't make any sense."
"It must make sense to the horse."
Nara glared at the animal. "She thinks she's better than me."
For a moment, Unju laughed.
It was a small sound, but it made both women smile.
Then a distant crack echoed through the forest.
The laughter stopped.
Unju reached for the pistol at her waist.
Nara scrambled to her feet, all humor gone. "Branch?"
"Maybe."
"You think someone's following us?"
Unju stared through the trees for so long that even I stopped crying. "We keep moving."
That was always her answer.
Whenever smoke appeared between the distant trees, Unju led us away from it. Whenever they heard wagon wheels, dogs, axes, or voices, they abandoned the easier ground and climbed toward rougher terrain.
Once, Nara spotted a cabin through the trees.
"There might be suplies," she whispered. "Just something small. Alchole, bandages Anything."
"There might be men," Unju replied.
"We can watch first."
"No."
"Unju, we can't keep surviving, the suppliesare running low."
"And we won't survive at all if somebody recognizes us."
Nara looked toward the cabin. A thin line of smoke curled from its chimney.
Still, she turned away. Nara followed, but she wiped angry tears from her face as she did.
"You can't outrun the whole world," she said.
"I only have to outrun the part looking for us."
"And how long you think we can do that?"
Unju looked down at me.
"As long as he needs."
By nightfall, they searched for somewhere hidden enough to rest: a shallow cave, a ravine, or a cluster of fallen trees thick enough to hide the tent.
Nara usually wanted to stop first.
"My feet are bleeding."
"Another mile," Unju would say.
"You said that a mile ago."
"how do you know?"
"We ain't gonna have feet left when we get to Canada."
"Then we crawl."
Nara would curse under her breath, but she kept walking.
Once they found shelter, they unloaded the horses and built the smallest fire they could manage. Unju shielded the flames with stones while Nara repeatedly glanced over her shoulder.
"Too bright," Nara whispered.
"We need warmth."
"Warmth won't matter if they see the smoke."
"It's barely burning."
"It's burning enough."
My crying filled the space between them.
Unju lifted me and rocked me slowly.
"Hush, Sol. Please."
I continued screaming.
Nara crouched beside us, her face hollow from hunger.
"What if somebody hears him?"
Unju's arms tightened around me. "Don't say that."
"I'm not blaming him."
"You sound like you are."
"I'm scared."
"So am I."
The admission silenced them both.
Nara looked toward the black trees surrounding the camp.
"What happens if they find us?"
Unju stared at the flames. "They won't."
"What happens?"
Unju's jaw tightened.
"They'll kill us," she said at last. "Or drag us back and make us wish they had."
Nara looked at me.
"And him?"
Unju covered one of my ears, as if I could understand.
"He'll never wear chains."
"You don't know that."
"No," Unju said, her voice turning hard. "I do."
She kissed the top of my head.
"They'll have to bury me first."
Nara moved closer and rested her head against Unju's shoulder.
"Then they bury both of us."
For a while, they sang to me.
Unju started softly.
"Hush now, my child, don't you cry,Mama's gonna hold you 'til the morning sky."
Nara joined her, though her eyes remained fixed on the darkness.
"The river runs deep, the road runs long,But I'll keep you safe with a soft, sweet song."
Their voices trembled.
They were trying to comfort me, but they were also comforting each other.
I wanted to tell them I understood.
I wanted to tell them I knew why they feared my cries, but i couldn't stop myself it felt to natural.
I knew why every sound made their hands drift toward their weapons. I knew why they slept in shifts and woke at every rustling leaf.
I wanted to tell them where the animals traveled.
Where the edible roots grew. How to ride the horses without falling. But all I could do was scream until my throat hurt, piss, poop, then fall asleep.
I felt helpless.
"Maybe he's sick," Nara whispered one night. Unju pressed her hand against my forehead.
"He ain't burning up."
"Maybe something hurts."
"Everything hurts," Unju said. She wasn't only talking about me. By the end of the week, their fear had become routine.
Set camp, hide the fire, listen for horses, dleep for an hour.l, wake at every noise.
Then, while the morning was still thick enough to conceal them, they broke everything down and began there forever walk north again.
Toward Canada, toward freedom. Away from every road, house, and human voice.
Every day looked the same. Every night felt longer.
And through it all, I cried while the only two people I loved slowly starved in front of me.
They believed they were failing to comfort me.
The truth was worse. I was trying to save them.
I simply didn't know how to make them understand.
And even as tears poured down my face I smiled.
The first rays of morning filtered through the pines as Unju quietly packed their camp. The fire had long since been buried beneath damp earth, the tent folded tight, and every footprint brushed away with a pine bough until the forest looked untouched.
Nara groaned as she cinched another strap across one of the horses.
"I'd rather walk to Canada than climb on that demon again."
Unju smiled without looking up. "Yesterday you said you'd rather wrestle a bear."
"I still would."
"You'll lose."
"I know." Nara sighed, rubbing the bruise blooming across her hip. "At least a bear ain't gonna throw me off every five minutes."
I cried from Unju's arms, kicking my tiny legs in frustration.
"Hush now," Unju whispered, gently bouncing me. "Mama knows."
No, she didn't.
The saddle was crooked. The packs were uneven. The horse's bit sat wrong. I knew exactly what needed fixing, but every attempt to explain dissolved into another helpless wail.
Nara glanced over. "He's been fussier every day."
"He's hungry for words," Unju said softly, though she had no way of knowing how true that was.
Nara snorted. "Well, he gets that from his mama."
Unju chuckled, adjusting me against her shoulder.
"We can't keep leading these horses forever."
"We've been doing just fine."
"We've been surviving," Unju corrected. "That's different."
Nara looked toward the endless wall of mountains stretching north.
"You really think we'll ever get good enough?"
"We have to."
"That's your answer to everything."
"It's the only answer that gets us to Canada."
Nara was quiet for a long moment before letting out a defeated sigh.
"...Fine." nara exclaimed but then mumbles under her breath. "But i dont know what's so different about that canada."
They walked another half mile before the trees opened into a wide meadow surrounded by towering pines. The grass reached their knees, and the ground lay flat beneath the morning sun.
Unju stopped and looked around. "No roads."
"No smoke," Nara added.
"No people."
She turned to her friend with determined eyes.
"This is where we learn."
That evening my cries slowly faded into hiccups. When I finally realized if I couldn't tell them with words...
Maybe I could show them.
Still sitting on the grass, I straightened my tiny back, relaxed my shoulders, and spread my legs the way a rider should. My little hands reached forward as if they were holding invisible reins. Then I gently bounced my hips, mimicking the rhythm of a horse's gait.
Nara hauled herself into the saddle. Too stiff.
She grabbed the reins too tightly. The mare tossed its head, took three steps, and Nara slid clean off the side.
"Ow!" she groaned from the grass.
Without thinking, I leaned backward and threw my imaginary weight over my invisible hips.
Again.
Unju climbed into her saddle this time. She pinched the horse with her knees. The gelding lurched.
She hit the ground beside Nara. I sighed the best a 2 month-old could and demonstrated the movement again loose hips, straight back, gentle hands.
Over and over. Fall. Demonstrate. Fall. Demonstrate. Until...
Unju looked over and laughed. "My little man's ready to ride before we are."
Nara chuckled as she dusted herself off. "Maybe he'll teach us."
The joke lingered. Unju's smile slowly disappeared.
She watched me in silence. I wasn't waving my arms.I wasn't flailing like a baby. Every movement had purpose.
She climbed back into the saddle. Before she could move, I leaned forward. She copied me without thinking.
The horse stepped calmly. My tiny hands loosened. So did hers. Her eyes widened.
She looked at Nara.
"Get back on." Nara groaned. "Must I?"
"Please."
Confused, Nara climbed into the saddle once more.
I watched every mistake she made. Every correction. Every shift of weight.
Unju wasn't watching Nara anymore.
She was watching me.
Watching my eyes track every movement. Watching my little body silently correct mistakes before they happened. The smile never left my face.
But for the first time...
My mother looked at me as though she wasn't seeing a baby at all.
"Ya see that!!." Unju said as she points at my posture.
"Are you saying you know how to ride a horse." Unju asked.
"Yagg." I butchered the word but i immediately nodded my head yes.
From that moment forward we recognized the only way I could be understood is through head nods.
Every time they mounted the horses afterward, they looked for my aproval. The way I shifted my weight when I sat. The way I leaned. The way I balanced, tiny things, enough.
The falls became fewer. The rides became longer and for the first time since swallowing those dead men souls, I felt something besides frustration and hatred.
Pride not in myself, In them. Because despite everything the dead men believed. My mothers kept proving them wrong.
Sadly it was gonna take more then that to survive. Days blurred into weeks. Food vanished first. Nara, desperate, gave what little she found to unju, leaving herself hollow. Her body thinned, bones pressing against her skin, and her milk dried up. Sol's mouth rooted against her, but there was nothing left. No comfort. No sustenance. His smile remained, wide and fixed, but when hunger became to much I cried.
Every night Nara had to reassure unju that my crys wouldnt bring unwanted attention. They were on the run, Nara and unju kept there heads on a swivel. Forcing them to keep moving or else watch the shackles of there past placed on me.
Nara, gaunt and silent, rationed scraps of bark, leaves, and dirty roots. Her stomach cramped in constant protest, but she never slowed her watch. Each rustle in the brush was an enemy. Each crow's caw was a warning. They drank stream water until their bellies sloshed, but it did nothing to quiet the screaming hunger that twisted their insides.
I knew what the problem was I could see the animal tracks but could do nothing but point and cry when they didn't understand. Water was a unlimited resource because we followed the stream away from civilization
By the sixth week of no real food their legs gave out, forcing them to ride horses everywhere. Nara's lips were cracked and bleeding. Unju collapsed against a tree, her arms tightening around me even as she shook with weakness. My smile glowed in the shadows, a mockery of joy carved onto a starving infant's face.
"Can I eat these demons now?" Nara says licking her lips at the horse she was riding.
The idea made unju's mouth water. "Not unless you want to carry these bags."
"But we'll stave." Nara whined.
They could not go on. Not without food. Not without strength. And yet, in the suffocating silence of the mountains, my smile remained bright, terrible, eternal.
Unju and Nara had nothing left in their bodies. Every step felt like a weight. Every breath a fight. After days of dragging themselves forward, they scraped together just enough strength to make camp. Their tent sagged like their spirits, heavy with hunger and fear.
I lay curled in the corner, eyes wide and wet. He watched the way Nara's chest rose and fell with strain. He heard Unju's stomach groan in the night. They whispered plans to survive, but he saw the cracks in their voices. He cried silentltly when they weren't looking cried because he could feel their suffering even if he didn't have the words for it.
It took almost 2 months of no real food before they were to famished to continue there treck through the Appalachian mountains.
The next day, as they rode to fetch water, i froze as memories of a past i didnt live began to bubble to the surface. A fallen tree stretched across the ground, and something bright caught his eye. A spray of golden-orange shelves. Mushrooms familiar, almost like home. His little body trembled with excitement, and before he could stop himself, the word tore out
"Food." My eerie smile grew wider as I noticed what I was saying.
Nara and Unju turned sharply. They had never heard him speak so clear. Their tired eyes flicked to where he pointed. Mushrooms. Strange. Unknown.
My face scrunched with determination. He tugged their sleeves, pointing harder, voice wobbling:
"Fojd!"
The sound broke and stuttered, but they understood. They crouched near the fallen tree, hesitant. Starvation gnawed at them so fiercely that they reached toward the mushrooms but i clapped my tiny hands together.
I shook my little head no wildly, trying again. "Coojoc." It came out garbled.
"What are you telling use." Unju mumbled excitedly, so i tried again.
"Coc, et." I try to tell them through garbled english but they caught the warning. Cook.
"Hes trying to say cook, we have to cook it." The realization struck them both at once. They blinked at each other in disbelief, then hurried to gather the mushrooms, hands shaking with urgency.
That night, firelight flickered across their worn faces as the scent of roasted chicken-of-the-forest filled the camp. For the first time in month, the cries of hunger were silenced. They ate until their bellies were warm.
I didn't cry that night not from hunger, not from fear. I sat watching my family eat, my chest swelling with something new. Pride. Relief. Love.
For the first time in my life, my tears came from joy.
After that night, everything changed.
Nara and Unju began to watch Sol with sharper eyes, every grunt, every glance, every gesture. They followed when he tugged their hands, listened when he pointed and babbled. What once seemed like random noise became a language unfolding before them.
And Sol never failed them.