spread the rumor that Blind Seer will have the throat and heart of any man who so much as looks cross-eyed at her, and that stills most of the talk. I’ve no doubt the story will have come here with us.”
“A wolf chaperon.” Holly laughed. “That’s rather unusual.”
Yet true, Derian thought. I wouldn’t want to be the man who showed the wrong side of his hand to Firekeeper. Even if Blind Seer held himself back, she would not.
THEY LEFT EAGLE’S NEST a few days later. Sapphire and Shad’s announcement had been received with overwhelming delight by the residents of Eagle’s Nest. There was dancing in the streets and the Festival of the Horse—which was in process already—took on the air of an impromptu congratulations party. Derian—who belonged to the Horse Society and so was already committed to attending the dancing and drinking—threw himself into the celebrations with double enthusiasm.
His head was still a bit heavy and felt about twice its usual size from overindulging the night before when Derian rose the next morning to saddle Roanne. The chestnut mare was skittish, dancing at her shadow, and unsettling the mixed string of mules and mountain horses Derian was taking along. His usual gift for handling horseflesh seemed to have vanished this morning and he found himself particularly glad that his younger brother Brock and old Toad were coming with him around the city and for a day’s ride west.
Firekeeper would intercept him there. They had both agreed that while Roanne was accustomed to Blind Seer, and her habit of dominating any equine company in which she found herself would cause the other animals to eventually come around to tolerating the wolf, there was no need to start the introductions in a crowded urban area.
Rain fell fairly heavily all that morning and into the early afternoon, adding to Derian’s misery. Even Brock’s usual exuberance was quelled, though he bounced back easily enough when the sun came out during their lunch break. He was particularly excited about being taken along when their father made one of his annual buying trips to Hope, a town to the south on the border of Hawk Haven and Bright Bay. Colby Carter had promised his younger son his first horse if the boy selected well and wisely. Brock couldn’t ask enough questions about conformation, gait, hidden flaws, and all the rest.
Eventually, Derian had sweated enough of the previous night’s indulgence from his system to enjoy the conversation and found himself sorry to see Brock and Toad turn east the next morning while he took his pack string west.
Derian knew Firekeeper would meet him as planned. She’d come tapping at his window the night before while Toad was in the common room yarning with the other guests and Brock dead to the world, dreaming, doubtlessly, of horses.
Firekeeper had crouched out on the thatch, looking pleased with herself.
“I meet you where the near fields end,” she had said, “and there are some little woods.”
Derian had nodded. He thought he remembered the place from the year before. As if his nod had been all the acknowledgment she’d needed, Firekeeper had backed away. Although Derian tried to keep her in sight, he hadn’t actually seen her depart.
Nor, the next morning, did he see her reappear. One moment he and his string were making fairly good time—given that the road was sticky with mud—and the next the lead mule was balking and Firekeeper was standing alongside the road.
She was dressed much as always: bare feet, leather trousers cut off below the knees, and a leather vest buttoned across small but definite breasts. Her hair was much grown out from the severe cutting she’d given it five or six moonspans before, and was just reaching the untidy stage where locks kept tumbling into her eyes. She’d clipped the most troublesome of these back with slim wire pins Duchess Kestrel had given her at that past winter’s Wolf Moon festival, but this small effort at
“A wolf chaperon.” Holly laughed. “That’s rather unusual.”
Yet true, Derian thought. I wouldn’t want to be the man who showed the wrong side of his hand to Firekeeper. Even if Blind Seer held himself back, she would not.
THEY LEFT EAGLE’S NEST a few days later. Sapphire and Shad’s announcement had been received with overwhelming delight by the residents of Eagle’s Nest. There was dancing in the streets and the Festival of the Horse—which was in process already—took on the air of an impromptu congratulations party. Derian—who belonged to the Horse Society and so was already committed to attending the dancing and drinking—threw himself into the celebrations with double enthusiasm.
His head was still a bit heavy and felt about twice its usual size from overindulging the night before when Derian rose the next morning to saddle Roanne. The chestnut mare was skittish, dancing at her shadow, and unsettling the mixed string of mules and mountain horses Derian was taking along. His usual gift for handling horseflesh seemed to have vanished this morning and he found himself particularly glad that his younger brother Brock and old Toad were coming with him around the city and for a day’s ride west.
Firekeeper would intercept him there. They had both agreed that while Roanne was accustomed to Blind Seer, and her habit of dominating any equine company in which she found herself would cause the other animals to eventually come around to tolerating the wolf, there was no need to start the introductions in a crowded urban area.
Rain fell fairly heavily all that morning and into the early afternoon, adding to Derian’s misery. Even Brock’s usual exuberance was quelled, though he bounced back easily enough when the sun came out during their lunch break. He was particularly excited about being taken along when their father made one of his annual buying trips to Hope, a town to the south on the border of Hawk Haven and Bright Bay. Colby Carter had promised his younger son his first horse if the boy selected well and wisely. Brock couldn’t ask enough questions about conformation, gait, hidden flaws, and all the rest.
Eventually, Derian had sweated enough of the previous night’s indulgence from his system to enjoy the conversation and found himself sorry to see Brock and Toad turn east the next morning while he took his pack string west.
Derian knew Firekeeper would meet him as planned. She’d come tapping at his window the night before while Toad was in the common room yarning with the other guests and Brock dead to the world, dreaming, doubtlessly, of horses.
Firekeeper had crouched out on the thatch, looking pleased with herself.
“I meet you where the near fields end,” she had said, “and there are some little woods.”
Derian had nodded. He thought he remembered the place from the year before. As if his nod had been all the acknowledgment she’d needed, Firekeeper had backed away. Although Derian tried to keep her in sight, he hadn’t actually seen her depart.
Nor, the next morning, did he see her reappear. One moment he and his string were making fairly good time—given that the road was sticky with mud—and the next the lead mule was balking and Firekeeper was standing alongside the road.
She was dressed much as always: bare feet, leather trousers cut off below the knees, and a leather vest buttoned across small but definite breasts. Her hair was much grown out from the severe cutting she’d given it five or six moonspans before, and was just reaching the untidy stage where locks kept tumbling into her eyes. She’d clipped the most troublesome of these back with slim wire pins Duchess Kestrel had given her at that past winter’s Wolf Moon festival, but this small effort at
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