I soak in my surroundings as I guide Inola up the perilous trail, drawing in the pure mountain air mixed with the scent of pine. The sounds of the stream helping me guide my way to the top. My infinite amount of blonde hair is haphazardly braided down my back with my worn duster hat sitting proudly upon my head. I am clad in my everyday clothes; jeans, T-shirt and cowboy boots. My hoodie is bunched up in one of my saddlebags with grandpa’s old pistol - better to be safe than sorry, right? Food and some water is in the other bag and I have a blanket rolled tightly and strapped to the back of my saddle. Through the trees, I could catch glimpses of the wide expanse of sky that was just barely showing the signs of turning dark. I made note of small landmarks that would help guide us back down the mountain sometime tomorrow. I nudged Inola with my heels, encouraging a little more speed from her, wanting to be at the top by sunset.  

The gentleman I had purchased Inola from said that her name means black fox in Cherokee, or something of that sort. The sway of Inola moving under me was a different feeling of the horse I had left behind. The steady power of Inola up this climb was astounding, a different dimension from Epona’s flighty dance-like movements. The never ending testing of dominance was gone, replaced by the steady, eager partnership this new horse offered. Inola and Epona were also worlds apart in color. Inola being a blue roan, which consisted of a midnight head and legs with a lighter, blue looking barrel covered in black dapples. Epona was the sunshine that Inola is not. Epona had a snow white mane and tail accompanied by golden coat that shone and rippled like a stone dropped in still water. As I reminisce and compare the two creatures, I realize that we have arrived at the top of the world. My breath catches in my throat as I marvel at the scene below me. The river snaking around in the valleys of below me, finding the path of least resistance. The golds, russet reds and burnt oranges of the trees weave with the ever greenery of the pines, coalescing together to create the picturesque valleys and ridges that meet the vastness of the sky.

As the sun settles upon the mountain peaks of the North Carolina portion of the Blue Ridge Mountains, I swing down from Inola and untack her, setting each item in its own place in the clearing. I tie Inola to a tree with enough slack to allow her to graze. I get my butt in gear to get everything in place before the sun sets. I walk around the clearing, gathering wood to start a fire and enough that I won’t have to go searching later. I glance at the sky, judging my time. Once the fire is burning I roll out my blanket and unpack my hoodie from one of my bags, careful of the pistol inside. I slide the maroon “Home” hoodie over my head, the outline of Wisconsin displayed in white on the front and a small star over my hometown, Muscoda scrolled above the star. I gently run my finger over the smooth print of Muscoda, missing my home and everything I left behind for this place. I dam up the memories, wipe my eyes, and turn to my next task.

Once the camp is set up, I untie Inola and walk to the westward facing log and sit down. Inola starts to graze and I let the rope slide through my hands as she moves farther away until I reach the end; only then do I close my hand around the simple leadrope and restrict her from wandering farther.  I gaze out at the view as a feeling of content settles in me. A small smile creeps 

across my face, just as the colors do across the sky. I am reminded of those nights spent with Reid on the Wisconsin River just outside of town. The inseparable Eliza and Reid. We were the ones that were going to stay together forever, settle down and marry. At least everyone thought so. Hell, so did we. But circumstances change, people change, life changes, and there isn’t much we can do about it. It’s all in God’s hands.

“Easy there ‘Nola,” I murmur to the horse whose head has shot towards a rustling in the bushes. My hand shoots to wood stock of the pistol as I murmur comfort. I slide it out of its holster and train it on the bushes, ready for anything that appears. The rustling intensifies as I skillfully pull the hammer back. A rabbit bounces out, oblivious to how close to death it had been. I sigh and uncock the pistol and return it to it’s holster. The tenseness flows out of me and my body relaxes. Inola returns to grazing, the danger gone. I turn back to relish the last rays of light. I allow myself to think of Reid - his light, steady touch, the way he smiled, his shock of brown hair that hung into his eyes when he let it grow too long, the way he looked when he woke up from a nap, his easy smile that could spin me in circles. And that’s what it did. I allow Reid’s memory to slip from my thoughts and I focus back in on the sky, longing for a human companion in the moment. The ball of fire is halfway gone, shooting rays of light across the sky, underlighting the few clouds. The intense fire fades into soft oranges, pinks, purples, and the final: indigo. The mountains turn to a hazy blue in the fading light and the once clear river turns to a river of fire, reflecting my heart and the sun on its surface. The sun continues to fall behind the mountains and I watch the colors continue to change and grow dimmer until it’s all gone.

I rise and amble back to the fire, Inola falling in beside me. I smile at the feeling of partnership and peace from this horse and from this land. I hitch ‘Nola to the tree with enough rope to lie down and go to poke at the embers. I add some smaller chunks of wood and start building the fire back up. I sit down and pull out my bible and some venison jerky I had snuck out of the pantry. I begin to chew on the jerky and open my bible to Psalms, reading to find my salvation until I become drowsy. As I am reading, I take notice of a faint baying of someone’s hounds picking up a scent.  The baying grows louder and louder, coming closer and closer to where I am sitting. I abruptly stand and move to Inola, but she’s sound asleep and hears nothing. I spin in a tight circle in confusion, trying to locate the direction of the sound, but it assaults me from all sides the same, no matter what way I turn. The sounds are overpowering my ears. A sudden blood curdling scream, sounding like a woman in anguish, cuts through the baying of the hounds. It resonates deep into my bones, raising all of the hairs on my body. Then the scream and the hounds are silent. Gone from the night like they were never there. The silence crashes down around me. I stand there in dumbness, unable to move. The fog closes in around me, constricting my vision. A faint globe of light catches my eye. It comes closer and closer becoming stronger and stronger. I place it as a lantern light. It bobs slightly as if someone is walking, but there isn’t a sound. Nothing except for the wind rustling through the half dead leaves of the trees. The light advances to where I have frozen, my body growing colder the closer it comes. I can envision the left, right, left footsteps. But again there is nothing. Just the rustling of the dead fallen leaves around me. The light

comes to float in front of me, and I see the faint figure of a boy no older than my younger brother holding the lantern aloft. His dark orbs of eyes lock onto mine and I feel myself leaving my body behind, being swallowed into his restless eyes. A soft whisper rustles through the brown crumpled leaves below me. Almost sounding like “Not yet.”

I allow myself to blink. When I open my eyes it’s all gone: The boy, the lantern light, the baying of hounds. No screams of death, no whispers of the night; just me, standing there among all of the dead, decaying leaves. I sink down amongst them and stare in bewilderment, as if they weren’t there before. I lay down amongst the leaves, too exhausted to do anything else.

When I awake in the morning, I rise from the leaves. I go and untie Inola and take her to the stream so she can drink some water. As she drinks, I remove my boots and roll my pants up to my knees and wade up the stream, enjoying the cool water pushing against my ankles, splashing up as I walk. The smooth pebbles roll under my toes as I walk and look for the smoothest and flattest to skip. I find a gray one, perfect for skipping;  I lean down and scoop it up, reel back, then let it fly, watching it as it skips once, twice, three times and sinks back into the stream. I think back to all the times Reid and I did this; go swimming and skip rocks. It was a simple date, if you would even call it that, but it was what we did. I start to make my way back to where I left Inola downstream, taking my time, my mind shifting to everything that happened last night. Inola softly whickers to me when I come back into view. I pick up her lead and walk back to camp to pack my things, saddle up and then head back down the mountain, the whole time my mind is stuck on the hounds and the hollow eyes of the boy with the lantern.

Once I’m packed and saddled, I mount up and we start picking our way down the lone mountain. Birds flit to and fro, blind as to what happened on the mountain last night. The trees down here still have their rusty reds and burnt oranges splashed across their leaves, giving the mountain some color. I exit the trees and enter the campground where my truck and trailer are parked. I unsaddle Inola and give her some grain and water from the trailer. While she is eating, I slide my tack into the back of the extended cab Ford. I grab an apple from the front seat and bite into it, licking at the juices that run down the sides before they reach my fingers and leave my fingers sticky. When Inola is done eating, I load her into the slanted 3 horse trailer and make sure everything is latched properly.

After I double check that I have everything locked and loaded and I hop into the cab of the truck. I slide the pistol out of my saddle bag and check it to make sure it’s empty of all rounds. After I check it I toss it into the glove box and drop the ammo in the almost full change holder. I turn the key in the ignition and pray that it will turn over one last time, I sit there in suspense turning the key, listening to the engine stutter before it finally turns over and roars to life. I shift into gear and slowly pull out of the campground, attempting not to jostle the trailer too much. I guide the burgundy tutone Ford onto the highway and press my foot down on the gas, forcing the truck up to the speed limit. I turn the radio player on and slide a CD in and harmonize with Cody Johnson singing “With You I Am”, my heart warming up to all the promises of love he gives. I begin scanning for a place to eat, seeing as how the few strips of jerky from last night and the apple

this morning are not a sustainable meal together; especially after the events of last night. I eventually spot a Culver’s and pull off into the parking lot, parking on the very edge so as not to be in the way of everyone else in the packed lot. I stroll into the restaurant and slide into line behind an older gentleman who’s ordering; the smell of fried food is overpowering, causing me to realize just how hungry I really am. I order my food and go and find my seat. I walk around clutching my number, searching for a spot to sit. I eventually find a little 2 seater with a beam of sunshine hitting it, almost as if it is waiting just for me. As I slide into it, I pull my phone out of my back pocket. While I am scrolling through instagram and liking pictures, my food arrives. I keep mindlessly swiping through as I start in on my cheese curds, I hold one out and inspect it at the funny taste of the one already in my mouth.

“Damn. I know they look good but you don’t have to stare at it.” I jump in surprise at the voice and the curd falls from my fingers and hits the table, leaving a little spot of grease from the impact. He motions to the empty seat across from me, “mind if I sit? Seeing as to how we’ve now met and there’s nowhere else to sit.”

I dumbly nod in reply and slide my tray closer to me to make room for him to sit with his tray. He settles into the booth and sets his tray down with a tap and I assess him as he does so. He looks about my age, and is fairly attractive. His torn up ball cap sits crooked atop his dark brown hair. I think of everything that his ball cap has been through to be worn through the brim, how it got that spot of grease on the side. His smiling blue eyes caught mine and I gave him a small smile.

“You’re not from around here are you?”

“No,” I reply back, guarded at what else he might ask.

“Oh,” he pauses the forges forward, “Well, where ya from?” He starts in on his burger dipping it in the ketchup on the side of his tray.

“Wisconsin,” I mumble back.

“What brings you all the way from up there?”

“I had to move down here with my family, because of my mom’s boyfriend; I’ll tell ya this though, I personally don’t care to much for him.” I’m surprised to find myself actually talking to this stranger. Talking to him like I know him.

“Oh,” he pauses, then forges ahead. “Well whatchya seen ‘round here so far?”

“Well I went riding up a mountain and got the crap scared out of me and you ain’t going to catch me by myself camping for a while, if ever again.” I stare at him down and take a sip through my straw, feeling the bubbles of my Mountain Dew pop on my tongue.

“What do you mean, like what happened?” his dark brows draw together in confusion.

I recount the events of the night before, retelling the story raises goosebumps on my arms. I envision the little boy and his haunting eyes. The scream of the woman. The light swaying towards me. The dead leaves dancing towards their grave on the ground.

When I’m done, the man just stares at me, and stares, and stares some more until I comment, “Well I know I look good, but you don’t have to stare at me.” He blinks at me and shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “ It’s just that there’s this story and I’ve only heard a handful of people ever say that they’ve seen it all. You might call me a nerd or something for reading up on the old tales and listening to the old folks’ legends, but it’s history; someone has to carry it all to the next generation.”

“What’s the story?”

He leans forward and sets his hands up, and I notice that he’s like me in the way that he uses his hand to talk and tell stories. “ Well you see,” He glances around to see if he needs to expand his tale to anyone else who may be listening, sees no one, then continues. “Well you see, there was this boy. He liked to go hunt with the dogs like anyone does. So he took the dogs out one night, and in that time all they had were old lanterns, so he had one of them old kerosene ones. While he was out hunting the dogs picked up a scent and the boy couldn’t keep up so he ket following after what he thought was them. Well what he didn’t know was that a mountain lion had gotten his pups, so he just kept lookin’ and lookin’ for them. The boy was still looking for his dogs when he heard the most God-awful scream, it sounded like a woman’s scream, and that’s when the lion dropped down on the boy and he was killed, right there by that mountain lion. The boy never found his pups so he was never at rest ,and he never will be until he finds them. So he goes out at certain times of the year, when the moon is bright enough, haunting the ridges and mountains looking for his lost pups. He still carries his lantern with him, why za ghost would need one is beyond me though. And I suppose you were one of the lucky few to actually see him.” He leans back and takes a sip of his drink to wet his throat. “Well that the legend of what I believe you saw.”

I just sit and stare at my empty tray and try to find something to say. All I come up with is “Thanks for telling me that I am not crazy and imagining things.”

He chuckles a little, “Don’t worry you're not. Hey I just kind of realized we never swapped names, mine is Joshua, Joshua Davis.”

“Mine is Eliza Walker.” I add a little smile in, realizing I sounded half angry. I take a quick glance and realize that I had been sitting for a little over an hour. “Oh crap, I have to go. I am really sorry, but I have my horse outside and...yeah.” I hop up and start gathering my tray and trash. He gets up with me and collects his things as well and we walk to dump it into the garbage by the doors. He walks out first ad holds both doors for me, it surprises me a little as most people don’t do that much anymore.

I give him a nod “ Thank you.”

“You’re welcome” We walk across the lot and he walks me to my truck, and I find it kind of nice to have his company and to hear his boots hit the pavement in cadence with mine.

When we reach my truck he turns and mutters awkwardly “Could I uh...get your number?”

I turn a little red, give a little nod, and reply with a very classy and sophisticated “Sure.” He smiles a little in relief and holds his hand out and we exchange phones and punch our numbers into each others phones. “Well, I guess I’ll talk to you soon?” I open the truck door as I ask.

“You’ll hear from me,” he replies reassuringly and continues “ maybe even get together again for more than just a spooky legend.”

A smile creeps ast my lips at his small joke. “For sure. Well, I suppose I’ll see you on the flipside.”

“Cya on the flipside Eliza.” He gives a mock salute and shoots me a small smile. Then he turns and heads towards hi vehicle somewhere in the lot. As he does so I admire his fram form the new angle. I fire u my trusty rusty and head out. With the radio as background noise to my thoughts on everything in the past day. My phone buzzes on the seat next to me and I look at it and see it’a fro Joshua “Nice meeting you Eliza. Hopefully see you soon.” I smile at it and choose to save a reply for later and start to navigate my way home.