Chapter 5
Is called the valley Safehome, hoping it was going to be both of those things. As she rode down into it old-growth forest had given way to a patch of immature trees - branches low to the ground and boles close together - possibly because those acres had burned.
It was exactly the kind of place not to ride a horse, but Is had gone down into it anyway, coaxing Lark to squeeze between trees and duck under branches where no horsemen would go, not government troopers and not even the Blueskins on their smaller horses. And she had been rewarded beyond her greatest hope as the nearly impenetrable trees had opened into a meadow that the forest hadn't reclaimed yet.
The meadow was an elongated egg-shaped bowl, surrounded on three sides by steep land and miles of the sort of trees that would turn horsemen away. On the fourth side the bowl was shallow, but opened to a forbidding snow-covered range that was too steep for horses.
With the days getting shorter and colder Is hurried to build a shed for her and Lark, cutting trees with the axe she had brought and having Lark drag them like a common plow horse. She had not really kept track of the days, but the moon had been waxing when she left her home, and it had been full and waxing again before they found the valley.
It was full again before Is finished the shed. Above Lark's stall she had built a half loft for herself. She and Lark would be protected from the worst of the wind and snow, and Lark would generate enough heat to keep them both from freezing.
The peaks around them had already assumed their winter mantle of snow. The wind was often strong in the surrounding trees, sounding like a rushing river, or fiercely driven rain, but the valley seemed to be protected from the worst of it.
The day the first snow fell in the valley Is took time off from her winter preparations. She had started the tradition of celebrating the first snowfall of each winter when she had lived at the Border Station.
Keeping the usual holidays made no sense. Either she felt sad remembering good times with her parents, or sad remembering the horrible times at the school where holidays had become just one more chance to be humiliated and embarrassed.
So Is had invented her own special occasions. First Snow was one of her favorites. She could entertain herself for weeks looking forward to it and trying to guess what day it would come. It certainly kept her from dreading it, which she might otherwise have done.
She'd had different ways of celebrating, but they always included a ride, just to enjoy the changed landscape, and usually she would dive into her stores of winter food and find something special to eat.
This year she had no stash of powdered chocolate or carefully rationed sugar to make herself a holiday treat but she didn't let that bother her. She saddled Lark and set off for the far end of the valley. Large powdery flakes settled on Lark's mane like jewels. It was cold enough that they didn’t melt but formed a white crest which he occasionally sent flying with a shake of his head.
Winter turned out to be a delight. On the coldest or stormiest days they stayed indoors. Is listened to Lark chewing the dried grass she doled out to him while she repaired leaks in the roof or worked the hides of the small animals she'd killed. Sometimes, when the snow was too deep for Lark, Is would leave him in the stall and go hunting on snowshoes she'd made herself. She hunted rabbits mostly, as they were numerous and she identified with the other small predators that hunted them.
So the winter passed and spring came. They celebrated the thawing of the ground with progressively harder workouts. Although they were alone, Is decided not to give up Lark's training because it was so much fun to work with him. Besides, Is needed the riding to keep her spirits high.
She discovered a wide place in the stream that ran near their shed and took her first bath of the year. It was very cold, and invigorated from it she took Lark for a long gallop.
So spring passed. Summer took hold of the land and everything slowed. The land dreamed its summer dream, and Is dreamed with it, living one day at a time, moment by moment, slowly, in pace with the land.