The fog returned to the foothills looming over of San Francisco Bay and the headlands north of it. It was late afternoon and Daniela had once again arrived at the only place on the planet that seemed to let her breathe free. There was a damp, freshness to the air that infused the aromas of the forest and seed-cluttered brush. Baylor was exhaling loudly and groaned as if to ask what she intended to do next. Daniela saw at a distance the familiar downed tree which, during their last visit, completely defeated her will. She capriciously positioned her horse in its direction and began the steady approach again, this time without delay.

Baylor was alert. He remembered the obstacle. But Daniela was resolved to clear it at a run. The horse began his protest again, as before with the shifting of his gate. But this time she was resolute in her grip on his reigns and insisted with the rapid jabs from her heels into his flanks. The animal and rider were now one, relying on their instincts to not hesitate after a certain distance to the barrier.

"Steady Baylor . . . over it, boy . . ." Daniela's whisper was reassuring, controlled. Her knees were tightening into the horse's sides, signaling her commitment to ride out the leap without being dislodged at the inevitable hard landing. Baylor grunted again but did not reduce his speed. Instead, he increased it. He began to even-out his cadence as they approach the fallen tree. His movements were now smoothly executed in a calculated preparation for the moment he would project all his strength into his hind legs and explode into a leap.

Daniela was conscious of the sound of Baylor's hooves. They communicated a strong and committed effort to attempt the jump. Nearing the last five meters, she bit her bottom lip and gripped the reigns with tightened fists, moist from the tension. There was no thought of failure now. No weakness of spirit in either her or her horse as they prepared to leave the earth. Baylor was poised to meet the challenge and took one last breath. Three meters from the massive tree, at full speed, he planted his rear feet. His musculature exploded in concert, recoiling like a nine-hundred pound spring, taking him and Daniela upward and forward in space and time.

There was an artful moment as they reach the apogee of ascent. Daniela could not remember feeling the ground so distantly below her in any jump back at the club. Over the tree and its wicked branches, looking like some mythological beast on its side, horse and rider sailed in what seemed like a frozen, aesthetic moment. There were no heartbeats, no breathing, and no thoughts as they passed through the air covering three to four meters of distance. When the magic of the floating terminated into a solid and jarring contact with the ground, Baylor sprinted on to carry their inertia forward and let the weight and speed dissipate slowly, fully clear of the hurdle.

"Yessssssss!" Daniela screamed into the meadow. A series of soft echoes answered back and a frightened bevy of quail fluttered out into the blue-gray light of dusk. "Yeah, Baylor! Yesssss, oh yes, boy!"

She was now breathing hard. Her hands were trembling and practically numb from the rush of adrenalin. Baylor was breathing quickly as well, and he slowed his movement to a stop. He threw his head up and pointed his ears back behind at the barrier in an instinctive final reaction of 'fight or flight.' Daniela wiped her mouth from what she felt was saliva on her chin. She saw the crimson color on her fingers and realized it was blood where she had bitten her lip so intensely. As she wiped the small red smear off her hand onto the leg of her riding pants, she inadvertently saw the stain as some trophy to herself-a small, but symbolic mark of her own power and achievement. It was born or simply was regained that afternoon in solitude and out of a belief in herself. She slapped Baylor in quick little pats on the side of his neck in appreciation and praise.

After a brief moment of repose where she visualized the jump as if watching it from afar, Daniela pressed her heels into Baylor's flanks once more. She guided him along the trail in somewhat of a victory walk before driving him back at a full gallop through the long, darkening countryside to the stables. She felt very inspired and in control while returning, carrying something wild and new inside her as she put her companion in for the night.

Looking into the mirror at the clubhouse dressing room, she saw this transformation in her expression and flushed face. From the small, superficial cut on her lower lip, and discolored bruises on her fingers from the pressure of the reigns, the manifestation of something powerful and alive had crept into her once needy reflection that afternoon. There was someone new in the image of the mirror that moment, with her hair still free, wind-blown and disheveled. It displayed someone at the core of her, perhaps an instinctive self, ancient and always there-but now asleep no more.

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(A campsite in the mountains , south of the Black Sea, 1249 BCE)

As Penthesilea grew through her childhood, the sturdy little girl became admired by the entire 'Daughter's of the Moon' s society. It was her rare combination of beauty and strength which captured so rightfully her legacy of 'future queen' among all of the women who had witnessed her to evolve and mature. Early and whole-heartedly she had begun absorbing the life cycle of the women warrior clan. And year after year she became a greater part of the rhythms of her nomadic culture.

In all of it she excelled. These rigorous activities consisted of days on horseback before settling into more permanent encampments. There was the constant hunt for game by the older girls, and the gathering of roots, nuts and berries by the younger ones. Considered a game of competition by the older girls was the catching of poisonous snakes beneath rocks and around rivers. Brought back to the women in baskets, these vipers would be deftly milked of their venom into small clay containers for the soaking of arrowheads at the bottom of quivers, making absolutely lethal the archery of the more elite women warriors.

Assembling the heavy deer hide tents near fresh water sources, while refreshing and feeding the horses each day, became each girl's accepted industry. Their education was for the most part practicing the skills of warfare, while at night around the firelight there was time for well-deserved relaxation with their 'Sisters.' Listening to the songs and stories told by the older women, or discussing what was encountered out on the plains by the hunting and gathering parties, occupied their evenings before sleep overtook them. Often this was shared affectionately in each others' arms inside the tents during winter or on the soft, straw-strewn ground under the summer stars. And of course among the teenaged girls, there was always talk of the mysteries of reproduction and their future participation in the annual festival devoted to it.

Many times throughout her younger years, however, Penthesilea and her Sisters conversely experienced the terror, excitement, and gripping sadness of ambush. On such occasions the camp of the 'Daughters' would be suddenly attacked by a horse-mounded party of all male invaders. She remembered the battle cries before dawn and the whistles of her clan signaling the more experienced women to fetch their weapons and horses for quick deployment and rehearsed defense. The tactic on these occasions was to stow the young girls into pits beneath the floors of tents and then engage in a cyclic mixture of evasion and aggression on horseback. It was a well taught maneuver which the exposed society, un-domiciled and vulnerable, had practiced often and used effectively. The horrors of it were always expected, and prepared for, but equally dreaded were the devastating losses it could bring.

On one such winter night, Penthesilea's first real memories of battle were formed at age eight. The assault upon her camp was heavy. Like so many of the younger girls, she and her little sister, whom they called "Hippolyte-the-younger," had crawled into the small pit dug out below the portable wooden floor of their tent, just for the purpose of their refuge and safety. Penthesilea remembered feeling the rapid beating of Hippolyte's young heart as she held her down quietly, comforting her as the muffled sound of siege raged above them.

All around their temporary burrow that night the princess with her six-year-old sister could hear the sounds of arrows zinging through the damp air, striking shields, horses, men and women. They heard the shouts of agony-both male and female, and the constant thundering of horses' hooves. There was also the terrible sound of metal striking metal, from swords and axes swung with great force and accuracy. Some weapons could be heard penetrating the wood and leather shields, and still others brought out the heart-rendering screams which accompanied those implements finding their mark upon human flesh and bone.

When it was all over, Penthesilea and Hippolyte were taken out of the pit by their royal mother Otrera, who was covered with the blood of the enemy. It was the "blood of men," she remembered being told with an inflection of hatred in her voice-those who perennially attacked them. Her aunt Andromache had also appeared above the girls, nursing a deep sword gash to her shoulder, and wincing through many bruises on her face and hands. Like her sister, however, she was nonetheless smiling at the girls in the aftermath, and allaying their fears with soft words.

Later that night, all the younger girls were brought together around several large fires to be debriefed about what they had witnessed and to also celebrate their survival and freedom once again. In the light of the raging flames Penthesilea saw the bodies piled up of the slain men. She witnessed how their fellow injured, dressed in animal skins, were ether killed off by the women, or unmercifully left unattended while the injured of her own clan was given continual aid and comfort. The lifeless bodies of her fallen Sisters had been immediately covered with woven linens, and on the following day they would be wrapped in layers of mats woven of pressed vines and leaves.

This was in preparation for a traditional mummification process involving being soaked in a honey and oil solution which was peppered with stringent herbs. These were the first steps toward an elaborate hero's burial which would sometimes include the sacrifice and entombment of a warrior woman's horse, as well. Even at her young age Penthesilea was expected to wash her injured 'Sisters'' wounds with fresh water and a bitter root tea solution for many days to quell the pain and infection. She also was to help in digging out the pits below the great subterranean burial kurgans in which they would ceremonially deposit their dead after four days.

Growing into adolescence, Penthesilea was expected to excel in the skills of combat. Her mother and matriarch of the clan, Otrera, had left this instruction in the hands of the tribe's battle tacticians, Aristomache and Pantariste. Penthesilea's abilities of swift riding and the deft handling of a bow and arrow at full gallop were honed daily from the age of eleven throughout her early teens. At fifteen she would be taught the art of hand to hand combat with a sword and the half-moon shield, an implement which had become characteristic of the Amazons on the battlefield.

Especially important was the practice of throwing a light but razor sharp javelin the Daughters called the "krieda." Penthesilea was also taught the many tactics of battle and the importance of using the natural environment for all its strategic resources of escape and stealthy offense. Among her young peers, and as a princess, she was steadily gaining admiration for her courage, and for her accuracy throwing the labrys-a double-bladed ax attributed to the Amazons throughout history. But most of all her respect was given by the other females for her undying belief in the women's celebrated cause for perpetual freedom and independence.

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