The Roar of the Falls: My Journey with Kaya

I tell Kaya that we should go back to camp to get help. Besides, Eetsa will be worried about us soon. Kaya nods and looks somberly into the horse’s eyes. She admits she doesn’t want to leave her, but she knows she must. They should run for help. It’s a risk, she says, but they have to try.

We lead the horse slowly to the side of the clearing where there’s long grass to rest in. Kaya plucks a handful of it and twists it into a soft wisp between her fingers. She binds it around Little Girl’s leg like a bandage. I clear away some broken branches and sharp stones so she’ll have a comfortable place to lie down. Kaya whispers to Little Girl to have courage, that we’ll be back soon.

The sun has almost completely disappeared below the horizon, and the sky deepens to a dark purple, the first stars beginning to prick through. I look back at Little Girl resting in the grass. She looks small and vulnerable there, and I wish there was more we could do for her.

Kaya and I run for the river and the safety of camp. But the distance seems much longer on foot than it did on horseback, and the night is growing dimmer and colder by the minute. Shadows surround us on every side. I’m chilly and clammy, and my feet ache from stumbling against the tough hillocks of grass. Kaya keeps a steady, tireless pace, and I want to ask for a break, but it seems wimpy to ask. Instead, I focus on scanning the horizon for any sign of camp. Nothing, just black darkness stretching ahead of us.

Just then, we hear a howl nearby, low and mournful, rising up from somewhere in the darkness ahead of us. My heart gives a big, painful thump.