You came back?? Wow. Cool :-) Happy reading!

Waking suddenly, the child looked around the room. Taking in the familiar walls and curtains, feeling the same soft bedspread that had covered her for eight years, she sighed. Everything was somehow different, changed in a way she couldn't explain. She didn't remember. An unnatural stillness inhabited the cottage, a hush that brought great sadness.

Swinging her feet from the bed, the girl silently walked to the door and cracked it open. Peeking out into the empty front room brought the same disappointing results.

She was alone.

This was the third day since waking up on the mountain all alone. No one had been here to greet her, but the child recognized the landscape and buildings. This was home. It wasn't supposed to be empty, but she couldn't recall why it was. Sadness became a constant companion, always in the back of her mind.

Shuffling to her closet, she pulled one of the dresses hanging there over her head, buttoning up the back with quick agile fingers. It was a tight fit, but bearable. Without bothering to brush her hair or put on socks, the child wandered into the kitchen and climbed up on one of the counters to fetch one plate and one cup. She then went into the pantry for cured bacon and two eggs. It was short work to start a fire and throw the food into a skillet.

She had known how to cook breakfast for herself for almost a year. Who taught her to do it wasn't even a question in her mind, the fact accepted as readily as the empty house. It just was.

After breakfast was eaten, the kitchen cleaned up, the youngster cautiously went to the second bedroom. Although she knew it would be empty, she feared to disturb who should be sleeping there. Small fingers on the latch, she hesitated before slowly pushing open the door. The quiet space felt barren and cold. A feeling stirred within her that there used to be warmth and laughter here.

Wandering aimlessly about the room, running her fingers across the soft quilt bedspread, along the wooden dresser, she took her time. Frowning, she tried to remember the warm, loving people that used to occupy this space. Nothing. Her feelings were instinctive, a natural intuition that what she'd lost was something good. Her memory had been washed clean, details of her past scrubbed away, leaving behind only vague impressions. If she thought too hard on them, they vanished.

No pictures adorned the walls, no journals tucked onto a shelf or in a drawer. Even the sheets carried no trace of scent, unslept in for too long. No hint of who had occupied such a big part of her life, the borders of her world. In the back of the bottom dresser drawer though, folded in with thick wool socks, she found a large wad of paper money. As big as her fist. Sitting on the floor the girl untied the twine that bound it together and laid the bills out flat on the floor.

Her young mind easily tallied the bills. Two hundred dollars. 'Paper money is better than the gold, raises less eyebrows.' The voice rose unbidden in her memory. Looking quickly around, she briefly thought someone was with her. It took a moment to realize the voice was a flicker of the past.

Like everything else, when she tried to focus on it, the fainter and farther away it got. Maybe it would be better not to try. Doing that too long made her head hurt anyway. Folding the money up she carefully put it back just the way it was.

Sighing heavily to herself she left the room, looking around the quiet house wondering what she was supposed to do. The loneliness was - A loud whinny drew her curiously to the front door. Opening it, she was met by the tall form and long face of a chestnut mare. The horse blew softly at her, as if in greeting. Moving forward, the child fearlessly held out her hand. Leaning down, the mare rubbed a velvety muzzle in the girl's palm.

Giggling as the whiskers tickled her skin, the sensation brought echoes of warm memories with it. Reaching up with her other hand, she patted the smooth hair on the long muzzle. The mare looked familiar and was obviously used to her, which made the child smile. She left the doorway, following as the horse turned, ambling toward the open meadow above the lush green valley the cottage overlooked. High pitched whinnies sounded from the tall grass as several foals got to their feet as they approached.

Enamored, the girl stared at them wide-eyed.

An appaloosa filly with long graceful legs and large brown eyes high-stepped toward her, curious. The other two were colts; one spindly blue roan with black socks, mane and tail, the second a deep chocolate brown bay with large purple eyes. They approached with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Standing very still as they came close, reaching out fuzzy muzzles to catch her scent, she giggled when one touched her arm. Startled, the foals bolted away on long legs only to circle around and come upon her again from another angle.

The girl was such a gentle and sweet creature that it did not take long for them to trust her. Soon the four of them were racing among the small herd, playing under the watchful eyes of the mares.

This small band could come and go as they pleased. There was no corral or stable to keep them confined. Somehow, the child recognized the fact these horses belonged to the house, but she liked being with them in the open. They ran and played until the sun was high in the sky.

Growing tired, hot in the blazing afternoon, a faint memory led her to the edge of the meadow. Below her was a pool that lay cool and inviting at the base of a well-worn path to the valley floor. Goats and chickens moved out of her way as she ran along toward the water, but she paid them no mind. It sparkled like a small sapphire egg in the sun, inviting. Peeling from her constricting dress as she ran, the girl reached the shore bare.

She plunged in without hesitation or fear, the cool water refreshing and delightful on her hot skin. Laughing, throwing huge waves of water into the air, she sank below the surface to watch it hit the water from beneath. It was familiar, and she smiled, bubbles escaping from her nose.

Staying by the pool until dark came, unwilling to leave the outdoors, she was reluctant to go back. It was so lonely in the cottage by herself, full of an aching feeling she couldn't explain but didn't like. Hunger forced her to return. Now well past supper time, her rambunctious day had taken its toll. Her tummy was grumbling loudly for food.

The cellar below the kitchen was stocked with large cuts of venison and wild sheep meat, jars of fresh goat's milk, canned fruits and wheels of cheese. Taking a large, razor-sharp knife with her, she climbed onto a short stool left near the sides of meat and carefully cut off a chunk of mutton. Her next trip brought up a jar of spiced canned peaches and a jar of milk. Heating up a skillet for frying, she cautiously set about cutting the meat into small strips, then mixing up some dough for biscuits.

Small fingers and muscles worked on subconscious memory and reflex, holding onto lessons taught to her by someone she could not remember. Some things were just like that, accepted without question. As if she'd always known how. Supper was ready in a short time and the child carried it into the front room, looking over at the empty fireplace, then at the kitchen table. She at last chose the kitchen table to eat her supper.

The silence made her uncomfortable. Eating alone was depressing, so to push away the quiet, the child began to hum softly, a faint tune that came unbidden to her mind. As she continued eating, the words to the melody developed in her memory. In between bites she began to sing aloud as the words flowed freely, coming out louder and faster.

It drove away the crushing stillness until she didn't feel so alone and finished eating. Climbing into bed with the house so silent and empty was unnerving. Each small groan and creak caught her ears but the child faithfully held her place on the mattress until she grew tired. Exhaustion eventually pulled her eyes closed. Her last thought before dropping into sleep was that she would survive.

Days turned into weeks. Week became months as this same routine was repeated, day in and day out. Summer was in full swing, the days long and hot. When finished milking the rambunctious goats, she would use the axe to chop enough wood for a small fire, stacking it inside the house. There was much empty time to fill however, so the child took to reading, finding a whole stack of books at the bottom of the empty room's closet. Some were too complex for her young mind to grasp, but others made sense and she pulled those out.

They ranged from history to fiction, animals to literature to people, and she read it all. She had a keen mind and a hunger to learn about the world around her. There were books on many subjects, and as she grew older, she discovered books that talked about weather, geography, maps, animal cycles, migration, and much more. She often read aloud to the yearling horses, the low sound of her voice attracting and soothing them.

Then the day came that she swung her feet from the bed and reached for her dress, only to discover that it would no longer button in the back. Puzzled, she attempted to stretch the material, but it would not be stretched. All of her dresses were like that. Frowning she went into the empty room and reached for the dresses that hung in the closet. The fabric was cold and dusty but she pulled one off the hanger and tried it on anyway. It was loose, much too big, but at least she could button it in place.

The breakfast trip into the cellar worried her. Food was almost out, and she had no idea where to get more. One of the books she'd read said that foodstuffs could be purchased with money, and she knew there was a large wad in the bottom of the dresser. All the scenes regarding barter and trade indicated that she would need to have an extra horse to pack the purchases on. That was not a worry, there was the herd outside, but where could she go? She didn't even rightly know where 'here' was, how was she going to reach a town?

After a meager breakfast she went outside and looked around, then remembered the shack behind the cottage. She had never been in it, usually forgetting it was there. The shack was dim inside, and full of many things, saddles, trunks, pine chests, blankets, large, sealed clay jars, rifles, pistols, and large sealed leather tubes. It smelled musty and she sneezed. On seeing the tubes, she smiled remembering the book on maps and how they were commonly stored. Pulling the cylinders free she went outside and removed the rolled paper, spreading them out on the ground.

They were maps of what she recognized as the area, locations, names, miles, landmarks, all handwritten in a strong sure stroke. She put her finger on the x that marked home, then traced her other hand along the wild area that surrounded her home range. About three palm widths away was a small series of boxes with the label 'White Rock' next to it. It sounded like a town. Another series of boxes was labeled 'Cimarron', though it was father away.

White Rock it was, but how to get there, what to do once she reached it? She knew nothing of dealing with others, or how to purchase goods other than what she had read in her books. She would have to have faith in others to help her; it was her only choice right now. Tightening her small jaw, she looked up.

"I can do this."