baskets?” I asked in a kind of slumber.
“Blossoms,” he said.
“Why do you want those?”
“We eat it.”
I gave a little laugh at his joke. Then I closed my eyes and gave in to the gentle swaying gait of the horse.
After a while, and just to remind myself that I could still speak, I murmured to him, “How long before we get there?”
“We pass through with the twilight,” he said. “Then we’re there.”
I think of that often now, but never even questioned it at the time, so content was I. We’d been going for a while and I remembered that he knew my name but I didn’t know his. “Come on, tell me.”
“Ah, names,” he said. “Now, where I come from there are people who say that once you can name a thing, you own it.”
“What a silly idea.”
“Is it silly? If you can name a thing you can put it in a box and close the lid on it. This box or that box. If you can’t name it, it runs free. Isn’t that true?”
“How did you know my name is Tara?”
“Well, that was very strange. I saw you sitting by that golden rock in the bluebell woods and the name just popped into my head from nowhere. A little voice said
Tara
and
a child of the sky
. What do you think of that?”
I tried to think of his name, to see if anything would pop into my head. I emptied my mind and waited for a whisper. I believed it would be given to me. But nothing came.
“And don’t waste your time trying to do the same trick,” he said, and laughed. “Because I’m guarding it.”
“So why won’t you just tell me your name?”
He became serious. “I can give you a name. I could make up any name, and you wouldn’t know the difference. But where I’m from, see, we all have a secret name. It’s known only to the clan, sort of thing.”
“Clan?”
“Clan. Tribe. That’s just a way of speaking. But anyway, this name, by keeping it a secret to the tribe, has power. And if you have it, they say—though I’m not sure I agree with them—well, it gives you power over that person.”
“This is mad. I’m riding away on a horse with a man who won’t even tell me his damn name.”
“Oh, I am going to tell you. I am, for sure. But first I want you to hang on, because we’re going to canter a bit now; otherwise we’ll miss the crossing at twilight.”
I assumed he meant that we would be crossing a river, maybe the River Soar or the Trent into Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire. I had no idea where we were, but if we were crossing either other than by bridge then it was going to be an exciting splash. I’d never wet-crossed either of the wide rivers on a horse, and I meant to ask him. But I didn’t have a moment to put the question, because the horse flicked forward its ears and then went straight from walk to canter, and we were away, hard-riding across a field of emerald green.
Oh, it was thrilling!
He was such a good horseman. I’d had riding lessons since I was a little girl, and for some years the use of a pony in return for leading the weekend treks. I could ride, and ride well, but with a saddle and stirrups; yet he was attuned to his horse in a single current that ran through the animal, through him, and through me, too.
We took the field at a canter and then galloped up the incline of a hill. The wind streamed my hair behind me and the white mane of the horse flashed white gold in the rays of the dying sun. We jumped a fence, we took a stream, we leapt over a fallen log. The hooves pounding on the dry grass quickened my heart and I thought,
This is terrible this is terrible I’m falling in love with this man and I don’t know where I’m going
.
The horse started to slow as it reached the top of the hill, and then he pulled her up so that she went into an easy trot for the last few yards. The animal was breathing fiercely, for it had been a good long gallop. The dusk was settling around our shoulders now and the sky had gone an eerie blue black. When we got to the top of the hill we could see the
“Blossoms,” he said.
“Why do you want those?”
“We eat it.”
I gave a little laugh at his joke. Then I closed my eyes and gave in to the gentle swaying gait of the horse.
After a while, and just to remind myself that I could still speak, I murmured to him, “How long before we get there?”
“We pass through with the twilight,” he said. “Then we’re there.”
I think of that often now, but never even questioned it at the time, so content was I. We’d been going for a while and I remembered that he knew my name but I didn’t know his. “Come on, tell me.”
“Ah, names,” he said. “Now, where I come from there are people who say that once you can name a thing, you own it.”
“What a silly idea.”
“Is it silly? If you can name a thing you can put it in a box and close the lid on it. This box or that box. If you can’t name it, it runs free. Isn’t that true?”
“How did you know my name is Tara?”
“Well, that was very strange. I saw you sitting by that golden rock in the bluebell woods and the name just popped into my head from nowhere. A little voice said
Tara
and
a child of the sky
. What do you think of that?”
I tried to think of his name, to see if anything would pop into my head. I emptied my mind and waited for a whisper. I believed it would be given to me. But nothing came.
“And don’t waste your time trying to do the same trick,” he said, and laughed. “Because I’m guarding it.”
“So why won’t you just tell me your name?”
He became serious. “I can give you a name. I could make up any name, and you wouldn’t know the difference. But where I’m from, see, we all have a secret name. It’s known only to the clan, sort of thing.”
“Clan?”
“Clan. Tribe. That’s just a way of speaking. But anyway, this name, by keeping it a secret to the tribe, has power. And if you have it, they say—though I’m not sure I agree with them—well, it gives you power over that person.”
“This is mad. I’m riding away on a horse with a man who won’t even tell me his damn name.”
“Oh, I am going to tell you. I am, for sure. But first I want you to hang on, because we’re going to canter a bit now; otherwise we’ll miss the crossing at twilight.”
I assumed he meant that we would be crossing a river, maybe the River Soar or the Trent into Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire. I had no idea where we were, but if we were crossing either other than by bridge then it was going to be an exciting splash. I’d never wet-crossed either of the wide rivers on a horse, and I meant to ask him. But I didn’t have a moment to put the question, because the horse flicked forward its ears and then went straight from walk to canter, and we were away, hard-riding across a field of emerald green.
Oh, it was thrilling!
He was such a good horseman. I’d had riding lessons since I was a little girl, and for some years the use of a pony in return for leading the weekend treks. I could ride, and ride well, but with a saddle and stirrups; yet he was attuned to his horse in a single current that ran through the animal, through him, and through me, too.
We took the field at a canter and then galloped up the incline of a hill. The wind streamed my hair behind me and the white mane of the horse flashed white gold in the rays of the dying sun. We jumped a fence, we took a stream, we leapt over a fallen log. The hooves pounding on the dry grass quickened my heart and I thought,
This is terrible this is terrible I’m falling in love with this man and I don’t know where I’m going
.
The horse started to slow as it reached the top of the hill, and then he pulled her up so that she went into an easy trot for the last few yards. The animal was breathing fiercely, for it had been a good long gallop. The dusk was settling around our shoulders now and the sky had gone an eerie blue black. When we got to the top of the hill we could see the
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