Spirit run wild

*Chapter 17: Two Days of Sky*

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For two days, Amara spoke to Spirit more than she spoke to people.

She’d lean her forehead against his neck in the mornings. “Morning, wild thing,” she’d whisper. He’d nudge her with his nose like he understood.

She told him about Bellewood. About Eleanor’s locket. About how silence felt safer than words. Spirit just listened. No orders. No slaps. Just warm breath and steady heartbeat.

Elias watched her. Every day. He started bringing her apples from the stores when no one was looking. He’d sit on the fence while she talked to Spirit. Didn’t interrupt. Just listened too.

“I think he likes you more than all of us combined,” Elias said one evening, half-smile.

Amara shrugged, hand buried in Spirit’s mane. “He doesn’t try to own me.”

That night, the base dragged in a captive. Lakota. Young man, face painted, hands bound. The army had been hunting his people for weeks. He’d fought back. Stubborn. Caused trouble. So they made him the scapegoat. Tied him to a post in the yard. Men jeered. Lucien stood watching, face stone.

Amara saw her chance.

Dawn. Mist still on the grass. Gates open for supply wagons. Spirit was saddled - she’d been riding him bareback, but today she grabbed a blanket. One leg over. No rope. No hesitation.

She whispered in his ear. “Run, Spirit. Run like they’re all behind us.”

And he did.

Spirit exploded forward. Hooves thundering. Wind in her hair, in her teeth. Faster than any horse she’d ever known. Faster than fear.

“Stop her!” someone shouted. “She’s escaping!”

Boots pounded. Men ran for the gates. “Close it! Close the gates!”

Too late. Spirit was already through. A black streak between the wooden posts. Amara lay low on his neck, laughing and crying at the same time. Air. Real air. Not log walls. Not orders. Just sky.

They didn’t stop until the fort was a smudge behind them. Until they reached a hillside blanketed in wild grass. Gold and green, rolling forever. The wind was clean here. Cold. It tasted like freedom.

Amara slid off Spirit. Fell to her knees. Then sat. Silent. Eyes closed. Face lifted to the sun. For the first time since Bellewood, she wasn’t anyone’s wife. Anyone’s prisoner. Anyone’s problem.

She was just Amara. Breathing.

Spirit grazed beside her. Elias’s apple in her pocket, half-eaten. She smiled. Real joy. Small, but hers.

It didn’t last.

Hooves. Shouts. Dust on the horizon.

Lucien. Half a dozen riders. They’d tracked Spirit’s trail like wolves.

They surrounded her on the hillside. Beautiful, quiet, free... for ten minutes.

“Amara,” Lucien said. No yelling. Tired. “Get on your horse.”

She looked at him. Then at Spirit. Then at the men with rifles.

She didn’t fight. Didn’t run. Spirit would’ve outrun them again, but the Lakota captive was still tied to that post back there. And Elias was still in that uniform. And she was tired.

She climbed behind one of Lucien’s men. Hands bound loosely this time. Not cruel. Just final.

On the ride back, no one spoke. Spirit beside them, bound to ropes, mane flying. Watching.

Back at the base, Lucien didn’t drag her. Didn’t slap her. Just walked her to the big log quarters and locked the door. Click.

Amara sat on the bed. Hands still smelling like grass and Spirit’s mane.

Two days of sky. Then walls again.

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