Paint the Wind by Pam Muñoz Ryan Page B

loped forward to keep up with the others. Everyone was accounted for, except Wyeth .
    Artemisia heard Wyeth’s whinny and looked toward the foothills. He stood alone, calling to them. He jogged forward, but Sargent turned suddenly, arched his neck, snorted, and pawed at the ground. Wyeth retreated to a small knoll, turning his head one way and then the other .
    Wyeth was more than two years old now. It was time for himto be on his own; to find a band of bachelor stallions with whom he’d live in fraternity; to pretend fight, play rough, and chase the others with his neck outstretched in the snaking posture. It would all be a rehearsal for when he was older and strong enough to challenge a stallion with a harem, win a mare, and start his own family. Artemisia watched as Wyeth again took tentative steps in their direction. Sargent lunged toward him with an angry squeal. Even though Wyeth was Georgia’s son and had been in the band since birth, Artemisia and the other mares knew better than to interfere with Sargent’s fierce rejection and seemed resigned to Wyeth’s exile. Finally, he hung his head and disappeared over the hill. For the first time in his life, he had to choose his own path .
    Artemisia turned her attention to the others. Georgia and Mary dropped to the water and rolled. Artemisia did thesame and Klee copied her. She stood and walked from the water. Klee followed. Both shook off a rain of droplets. Artemisia nuzzled his face as if trying to absorb his presence. She draped her neck over his withers, reassuring herself that he wasn’t going anywhere with a band of bachelor stallions, at least for now .

“S TAY CLOSE TO ME AND AWAY FROM THAT DROP-OFF,” said Aunt Vi. “I am not ready to lose either of you to the Great Divide Basin.”
    Maya, Aunt Vi, and Payton sat on their horses at an overlook and gazed out at the infinite crater of desert. Below them, the Honeycomb Buttes rose abruptly from the basin floor in peculiar sandstone spires of rust, brown, and green. In the east, Continental Peak saluted, and in the west, the Oregon Buttes lay like a sleeping giant.
    â€œHave you ever seen anything like it?” asked Aunt Vi.
    Maya shook her head. She might as well have been on an alien planet. Was she really here? On her way to see the wild horses? She’d hardly been able to sleep last night for thinking about this very moment. First thingthis morning, Aunt Vi had been surprised to find her warming her hands over the campfire, already dressed and waiting. After breakfast, they had loaded Russell, Homer, and Seltzer into the gooseneck trailer, and Aunt Vi had driven Maya and Payton south along the Continental Divide.
    Now, Aunt Vi turned her horse north, and Maya and Payton followed on theirs. The mirage of a shimmering lake appeared before them, but as they rode closer, it vanished. What Maya thought was a congregation of rocks on a hillside manifested into a herd of pronghorn. She gasped and chills ran up her arms as she watched them flee across the panorama in a graceful, white-bottomed ballet.
    â€œIt’s a mysterious place out here, Maya. I’m always amazed, too, at the beauty and the strangeness of it all.”
    Maya nodded and felt an odd expectation, as if something unusual might happen at any moment. She knew it was a ridiculous notion, but she imagined that when she caught her first glimpse of Artemisia, she might see her mother sitting on the horse, too. Or would at least feel her presence. Out here, where the eye played tricks, it almost seemed possible.
    They stopped, dismounted, haltered the horses, and tied them to the woody sagebrush. Aunt Vi led them to the crest of a hill above Oregon Gulch where they sat cross-legged, waiting.
    â€œAunt Vi, are there any ghost horses out here?” asked Maya.
    Aunt Vi smiled. “Who told you about ghost horses?”
    â€œMy mother … She said the only way to capture a ghost horse is to paint the