On the rain-blown steppe
the wild horses came hastening,
hooves denting the mud.
Warm but wet, that first night
in the horse country,
rain trickling down his neck
as Wen Xun stood sentry duty.
He heard the horses
before he saw them,
unshod hooves sounding
softly on sodden grass.
Eight horses, riderless,
halted on the low hill crest
overlooking the king's camp
by the Guang Yun river.
Asleep in his tent,
how could the king summon them?
What call did they hear?
Wen Xun went into the king's tent,
woke Captain Li, who woke the king.
Through darkness and rain,
the three men walked up the hill.
King Xau signaled the guards to halt,
went, alone, from horse to horse,
speaking to them,
laying his hands on them.
Wen Xun knew every verse of the song
about wild horses coming to the king.
Witnessing such a thing himself
scared him so much he shook.
Unbroken, untamed,
nothing they claimed from him, save
the touch of his hand.
Wen Xun was still trembling
when the king came over,
set his hand on Wen Xun's shoulder--
"I'm sorry," said Wen Xun, mortified.
"It's all right. Come with us."
And the king steered him forward
until they stood amid the smell,
heat, breath of the wild horses.
And there, his king beside him,
Wen Xun's fear lifted clear,
and he trembled not at all
though more horses galloped up.
Their promise they gave:
to come if he needed them,
no matter how far.
At dawn, the horses left.
The three men went down the hill.
Silent. The rain had stopped.
The king's face was streaked wet.
They hung their coats to dry.
Princess Suyin, already awake,
ran out to join them.
Wen Xun heated breakfast.
The night behind them, unspoken,
as it would have remained unspoken
except that the horses returned,
a dozen times in as many weeks.
By hill and by stream,
the wild horses came hastening.
What call did they hear?
(First published in Silver Blade)
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