The colt immediately picked up the lingering scent of the herd through the hoof marks each horse left in the dirt and the piles of manure and urine spots they left behind. As the colt walked he would often briefly stop to smell the manure or urine spots he found along the way and easily identified the member of the herd who had left it. The colt was comforted by the familiarity of the odors, particularly the ones of his mother, but he didn’t give it much thought. There was something in the recesses of his mind that told him that chapter of his life was over. He had been banished from the herd, as most young horses are at one time or another, and he knew there would be no going back to the life he had.

While it was the piles of manure that marked the way to the river for the colt, it was actually the strength of scent from the hoof marks in the dirt that told him when he was getting closer. The scent of any herd was always stronger where the herd had last been, so the farther he was from the river, the stronger the physical scent of the herd. The closer he got to the river, the fainter the scent. Within another day or so, the scent would be gone completely along the entire path the herd took to the mesa. But for now, it could still be used as a beacon.

The trip to the valley with the river was relatively uneventful, although very time-consuming and arduous. Normally a horse walking could easily make fifteen miles in about five hours. But because of the severity of the colt’s injuries, it took him nearly twice that long, and by the time he reached the river the eastern sky was already getting light.

The once lush green grass along the river’s bank was now brown and dry, and it crunched under his hooves with every step he took. He had expected to pick up the scent of water long before he reached the river, but as he slid down the bank and into the riverbed he quickly realized why he hadn’t. The river was completely dry. Even the small muddy sliver the herd drank from two days earlier was gone, and all that was left were dark spots in the cracked and dry river bottom.

The colt pawed at the dark spots in hopes of perhaps bringing up some moisture that was trapped underground, but all that he raised was mud. He turned and limped a mile or so upstream, and then downstream, in search of something to drink, but it seemed the entire river had simply disappeared. He stood in the middle of the dry riverbed as the sun began to climb higher in the sky, and the cool morning air quickly heated up to over ninety degrees. The colt’s energy reserves were gone now. His injuries, along with the fifteen-mile trudge to get him to the river had used up everything he had. He slowly glanced to the north, back toward the land he had been born and raised in, and knew the next closest water was over two days away, too far for him to travel in the condition he was in. He didn’t know it, but that river was dry too, and the ground around it was just as bare. It was why the herd left in search of water and food. He looked to an old cottonwood tree near the bank of the river. There was shade under its branches, but even at only fifty feet away it was still too far for him to walk. He lowered his head and closed his eyes.