Free Shooting Butterflies by T.M. Clark Page B

was going to miss that smile, his gentle touch with the horses, the hours he’d ride with her searching for and picking the sweet donkeyberries when they were in season. Finding the Kaffir oranges that she loved so much, the sweet juicy insides a reward for breaking into the thick yellow exterior. Even when she wasn’t out with him, he’d bring some back to her as a gift, because he knew she liked the wild fruit, almost as much as the wild figs that he would bring home too. She smiled as she remembered the amount of times Bomani had ridden with her to collect the ripe prickly pears at the top end of the farm, and would ensure the bucket didn’t fall on the way home so they could have the fruit, icy cold from the fridge, with thick cream from the dairy as dessert after dinner. Bomani had always been with her. He wasn’t just her horse boy, he was her friend. She just had never realised it before.
    She shook her head to dislodge the thought of how much she was going to miss him.
    â€˜Come on,’ Gabe said and the three of them set out at a walk that soon turned into a canter along the straight stretch of road.
    â€˜Race you to the velvet beans,’ Tara said, and she kicked Apache in the ribs. The big horse’s muscles rippled underneath her as he surged forward.
    The canter soon turned into a full-blown gallop towards the field. Tara could feel Apache labour under her and stretch for his next stride. She rocked comfortably in the saddle, crouching low and feeling the breeze stroke its fingers through her hair. The velvet bean field was on their left, and as she raced towards the gate at the far end, she thought about how recently the beans had been flattened by their neighbour’s cattle when they had broken through the fence on the far end of Whispering Winds, and eventually endedup in the planted lands. She thought about how, now he owned the farm, it no long mattered that his cattle ate the crops that had been sown to feed the people on the farm that she’d never again sit in the kraal eating sadza and beans with mfino with Bomani and James, or with Kela or Inacio.
    She saw the gap in the fence line where the thick branch of the camel thorn tree had fallen, making a natural steeplechase jump. She slowed Apache to a canter and lined him up then gave him his head. He strode over without even touching the thatching grasses that grew tall and brown on the other side. She slowed him to a walk, and waited for Gabriel to come alongside her.
    â€˜ Balla Balla ,’ Bomani said, and she turned in her saddle to look where he pointed. A big kudu bull with its twisted horns stood on the edge of the clearing. When Tara clapped her hands once loudly in his direction, he bounded away through the thick bush and was quickly gone.
    â€˜That wasn’t nice,’ Gabriel said. ‘He was just minding his own business.’
    â€˜Well I don’t want Mr Potgieter to see him here. He hunts all the time, you know. You heard him shooting last night,’ she said.
    Gabe smiled at her. He didn’t remind her that her father had hunted too on the very same farm they now rode on. Instead he let her drift away through the forest of trees at the far end of the farm.
    When they reached the shallow dam they unsaddled the horses and led them into the water. Soon it was too deep for Tara to stand and she simply held onto Apache’s mane as he swam. Ensuring his reins were knotted over his neck, she slid along his body and held onto his tail, floating behind him. When she noticed that he was no longer swimming but beginning to walk she slipped onto his back again. Reluctantly she turned him towards where they had left the saddles. A family of warthog arrived and foraged on the bank.
    â€˜I’m going to miss those,’ Tara said. ‘Every time we ride through here, I watch for them.’
    â€˜I know. If you didn’t you might get thrown off your horse!’ Gabe said as Ziona swam