Tide | Tide Book One (Free Sample)

Two

"What do you think, Inka, do we have enough?" I asked, studying my basket. It was near half-full with berries, shining and ripe. The mare grazed beside me, and a swish of her white tail was her answer to my question. I glanced at the berries. I'd picked more than we needed for now.

I set the basket down and dropped into the grass beside it, pulling my boots closer from where I'd kicked them off. It was a shame to wear shoes in a spot like this, where the grass was so soft and thick you could hardly feel the ground, and the little circle of trees cast sweet shade across the clearing, but anybody who saw me working barefoot would scold me for it. So I slipped them on, reaching up to rub Inka's nose when she shuffled closer and snorted a warm breath onto my shoulder. When I'd laced them, I got to my feet, scooped my basket up, and clucked my tongue to get her to follow. "Let's go home."

I paused in the fields to look up at the cloudy sky. "It looks like rain," I murmured. "I think we'll have another storm soon." The second this week. Though the sunny days were the most beautiful I could imagine, we'd had more rain this summer than usual.

Just in case the storm came sooner than expected, I increased my pace, speaking as we went. Not because I had much in particular to say to Inka—she was a horse, after all—but because she listened, ears swiveling at the sound of my voice. An animal will keep by you all their life, if only they know your voice, Mama had loved to say. They may not understand what you say, but they know when you're speaking to them, and they'll love you for it. You can't expect an animal to follow you out of obedience—they follow out of love.

I had seen Mama hold entire conversations with Inka alone, telling the mare about her day or how the crops were doing, pointing out the birds around them. Laughing. And Inka had followed her everywhere she went; she had seldom allowed anybody but Mama to ride her. So I voiced whatever thoughts ran through my head for her. I described to her the gray-blue of the sky today and listed off the names of every plant I could see. I told her which of our crops would be ready to harvest when, and how I hoped this autumn would be good to us.

But the longer I spoke the more my thoughts turned to other things, and I cast the mare a careful look. "Do you miss her?" I asked and paused as if she could answer me. "Do you understand that she's gone? Can a horse understand death?" Of course she didn't respond but to shake off a fly that had landed on her nose. "Of course you must miss her. I know you loved her. I miss her, too."

I listened to the faint, roving songs of the fields. "She always loved the festival, do you remember? She used to put flowers in her hair and mine. It's tomorrow night. Maybe I'll pick some flowers for it." I stopped and bent to pull up one of the scattered wildflowers near my feet. Inka kept calm and let me plait it into her mane, where its pale lavender-pink petals shone against the white hair. "Everybody should look nice for the festival, Inka. You won't get to be there, of course, you'll have to stay here, but I'll know how nice you look at least." When I finished, I stepped back and studied it, though she was already moving toward home again. Mama would have approved, I was sure.

I hurried to catch up to her and picked the flowers that caught my eye as we went, making a small bundle in one hand. When we reached the field where the other horses grazed, Inka broke off, trotting away to them with a toss of her head in farewell. I found Tobin and our father both inside already, deep in a conversation that cut off when I entered. I placed the basket of berries onto the table and turned to dig through our collection of pots and pans for a vase. "I picked plenty of berries," I said. "We can have them fresh or preserve them. Though I think we should wait until later in the season to preserve them, maybe. But either way there are more than enough to take to the festival." I pulled out the old vase, dropping the flowers into it before setting it in the center of the table. It brightened up the simple room; I'd get some water so they stayed fresh.