Read Little Horse on His Own Online
Authors: Betsy Byars
Little Horse on His Own (3 page)
It was empty. Little Horse curled up. He slept.
In the morning, Little Horse was eager to be on his way home. He came out of the opening and raised his head. He could not see the sun.
A gray wind blew from the south. It stung his eyes. A strange smell filled his nose. He had smelled this before. Smoke!
An animal darted in front of his tree. Little Horse moved back, but the animal did not notice him. Another animal passed in front of him, and another. Birds flew overhead.
Little Horse realized the animals were running from something. He remembered where he had smelled smoke before. It was the time when the two-legged animals burned a field.
Little Horse caught the fear of the running animals. He ran with them. Fire!
Little Horse ran as fast as he could. For a while he found his way by following the other animals.
But, one by one, the animals passed him. Little Horse ran alone.
The smoke was thick. He could no longer see the stream. He could barely see the trees in front of him.
Little Horse struggled on. He was going uphill now, and the way was hard.
A bird hopped ahead of him. It was a young bird. It could fly only a short way at a time.
The way grew steeper. The bird grew stronger. Little Horse had a hard time keeping it in sight.
The bird rested for a moment on a bush. Little Horse wanted to rest too, but he knew he had to keep going.
Then he saw the bird lift its wings, and, gaining his own strength, Little Horse disappeared into the smoke.
Little Horse stopped. He looked down. The next step would have taken him over the edge of a cliff.
The smoke cleared for a moment. There was nothing below but trees and, beyond, the stream. He had to get back to the stream.
Little Horse took one more step and began his long slide to the stream. He turned over and over. He rolled past rocks and bumped into trees.
At last he was at the stream.
There was no smoke here, only cool water, and Little Horse, gratefully, had a drink.
Following the stream, Little Horse made his way home. He traveled sometimes by day, sometimes by night. He ate grass when he was hungry. He drank from the stream. He slept when he was tired.
There were many noises, and Little Horse kept alert. He held his ears back, turned to catch the slightest sound.
Even so, he missed one.
It was a faint sound, like the wind through soft leaves. Then he smelled feathers.
Before he had a chance to run, wings beat against his body. Talons gripped his sides.
This was Little Horse's greatest fear. The greatest fear of all little horses is a bird of prey.
Little Horse was lifted into the air. Wings beat against him. He was taken higher, higher still.
He looked down. His heart beat as if it would burst from his chest. The earth was far below. The stream, the trees, the hills seemed to be flying past.
The terrifying flight ended high in a tree. For one moment, the grip of the talons lessened. It was his only chance. Little Horse twisted free.
With a cry of fear, Little Horse began his fall to the ground.
Little Horse dropped to the next branch. The talons were there, reaching for him. He fell to the next branch, then the next.
That was how Little Horse made his way to the ground, dropping from one branch to another. Then, with a thud he landed on the ground.
Little Horse was lucky. The ground was soft, and his fall was cushioned by pine needles.
He knew the bird was still in the tree. Little Horse buried himself deep in the soft needles and waited. He expected to feel those terrible talons, to feel himself lifted back into the air, but this did not happen.
Little Horse stayed in the pine needles all night. From time to time his body trembled with fear. He did not sleep at all.
In the morning, tired and weak, Little Horse got to his feet. He tried to run. His legs didn't seem to be working well.
He hoped he was going toward the stream, but nothing was clear. He thought he heard the faint sound of water. Was it his stream? Was it only in his mind?
Little Horse began to run. He stumbled now and then on his weak legs. He fell, got up. He fell again.
At last, Little Horse dropped to the ground. He could go no farther. He had tried his best. The Valley of the Little Horses was too far.
Little Horse lay without moving. The spray from a waterfall covered him with a light mist.
The mist! The mist came from a waterfall. Could it be THE waterfall? His waterfall?
Little Horse got to his feet. He shook his head, shaking the water from his eyes. He looked up at the waterfall.
He knew that waterfall! He had gone over it the day he had fallen into the stream, drifting far from the Valley of Little Horses until he was lost.
Little Horse wanted to rush up the hill, but he was so close now, he didn't want to take any chances. He stopped to eat some grass. He drank from the stream.
Little Horse felt stronger now. He hoped he was strong enough to climb the steep incline beside the waterfall.
He started up. He climbed rocks. He slipped. He kept going. He fell into a ditch. He climbed out. He kept going.
The thought of the Valley of Little Horses at the top gave him strength. He got to the top, and there it was! Little Horse could see the valley.
His heart raced with joy. Then he stopped. The rushing stream still lay between him and his home.
He knew the dangers. The water could carry him away as it had before. He could be swept over the falls.
He did the only thing he knew how to do. Little Horse kept going.
