Hoshor Plains you can run on for a long time

he'd been born running, his mother had said.

legs churning in the long grass, snorts steaming from his tiny nostrils, blue-gray coat gleaming wet and hot in the moonlight. a cold early spring night; the other babe born that evening had perished soon after.

a good omen, said the wise men, this boy's birth. born running,

soon to stand;

rare to fall.

their kind had to be born running. the flesh-eaters could enjoy the luxury of their young staying blind, senseless, squidgy as worms after a hard rain.

kinya loped along now, having run smack into the scent of wolves in various corners of this place. only on the open prairie did he feel safe.

they lurked in the shadows of trees—

snow fell slow but heavy, big flakes settling upon his charcoal mane and trembling withers. horses were here, too, and the bison.

safety in numbers.