Despite leaving early, we’d climbed the trail alone for hours. “How’re you feeling Sue?” I asked.
We came upon an ancient shrine with a small stone horse. I stroked its weathered features and whispered, “We need water. Dhanybhaad!” I imagined it standing under the cold stars, desolate, longing to live and breathe.
“Namaskar!” A bald, red-gowned man appeared on a magnificent grey horse. “You want eat and drink?”
A saddlebag yielded bottled water, bread and chicken. We ate ravenously.
He smiled and rode away. Looking back at the shrine, I gasped. The stone horse had disappeared.
Featured in the book, To Cut a Short Story Short: 111 Little Stories
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