She sighed as she weighed her options. None of them felt right. Honor, justice, right, wrong, fair. Were those just words? Were any of them real? She could not tell. Life and death. Those are real. A man no longer lives. What is one supposed to do next? She did not know. So she decided. She would do what felt right.
The horse felt her pain and confusion. He also felt her relief and guilt. So when she brought a pouch of food to the stable and picked up his saddle he was ready. He stood quietly as she saddled him and prepared for the ride. Their usual banter traded for understanding. They set out, neither one sure where to go. So the search began.
Timeless. Was it minutes or hours? She could not tell, but when she spotted the strong tall oak tree it felt right. In his own way, he had been strong, he stood up to his people for what he believed. She dug into the saddlebags, down to the very bottom and found it. A small cloth wrapped carefully around two items. She had not meant to bring them with her, and when she found them in the saddlebags she had wrapped them up and hidden them away.
She carefully unwrapped the cloth to look at the items one last time. A simple hairpin, and a small wooden carving of a horse. She stared at them unblinking until her eyes blurred from lack of moisture. Then she slowly wrapped the cloth back up.
A stick found on the ground became a tool, her hands pitched in when the stick was not enough. At the base of the tree a small hole emerged. When it felt deep enough she carefully laid the package in the hole. The dirt pushed back over the hole covered it and it almost looked undisturbed. Is that what happens when one dies? Soon the world around them goes on, undisturbed?
Kneeling there, her hands and face streaked with dirt she began to speak. “I wish to honor you somehow, but I do not know how. I know you tried. You tried to protect me. You tried to care for me. I am sorry. Sorry I could not give you what you wanted. Sorry I could not love you. Sorry I am glad you are gone.”
With the words spoken the tears begin to flow. At first a trickle, then a steady stream. They seem to carry away her pain just as they carry away the dirt on her face. The horse behind her gently nuzzled her shoulder. When the tears are spent she climbs on his back and he carries her…. Home. She faintly wonders when it became home.
