RIDING WITH THE BEAST
They began arriving at first light, small groups appearing on the skyline like scattered birds moving homeward after a long, hard flight. Some came on foot, leading tired pack animals loaded with nothing but a few chipped pots, rough blankets, and the worn clothes on their backs. Some rode shaggy ponies that had carried them for weeks across rough country and hidden trails. Some came alone, their faces lined with years of quiet hardship; others with children clinging tight to their hands, old people leaning heavily on their shoulders, carrying nothing but the memory of the homes they had been driven from long before. These were the exiles — families who had fled the old keepers’ punishments, who had been cast out for speaking out, for hiding friends, for refusing to
