not safe,” I warned, climbing slowly to my feet. My knees ached from crouching so low for so long. “Bi Trembla will hang me from my feet and skin me alive if she ever finds out I agreed to this.”
I didn’t say that Tumelo would fire me, even though I was sure he would. Cousins or not, there was only so far I could push. This would cross the line. I had avoided my village for so long that the camp had become my home. I closed my eyes to clear a wash of nostalgia. At least if he sent me home, I’d be out of reach of Bi Trembla’s wrath.
“I won’t say a word,” she whispered. “My father can’t know either. He’s progressive, but he would keep me chained to his side until I marry if he learned I went chasing after a poaching gang.”
I spat into my palm and offered it to her. When Kara wrinkled her nose in revulsion, I chuckled. “That’s how we seal a deal in Nazwimbe.”
She rolled her eyes but spat into her own hand and shook mine.
I dismantled the tents while Kara grouped the horses together, tightened their girths, and offered the mules some water from her canteen. It wasn’t ideal, tracking a group while dragging three pack animals behind us, but there was no way we could bring them back to the camp without raising Bi Trembla’s suspicion. When I went tracking for practice, deep out in the wild, I liked to go with just my horse, another person, a gun, and enough water to survive. I could find shelter beneath a tree, or sleep under the stars, gather berries, and hunt rabbits. Traveling light made it hard for someone—or something—else to follow your trail, while you followed them.
We mounted up and carefully steered our horses down the ridge to the base of the baobab tree. I could see the area where the two unicorns had fought for their freedom. A jagged circle of frantically trampled grass and the heavy impressions their knees made on the soft earth remained. Kara dismounted again and went to retrieve the stallion’s horn. She ran her hands along the silver ridges and then tucked it into one of our supply packs.
“I can’t see which one belonged to the filly,” she said, putting her foot into her gelding’s stirrup and swinging back on. “There are so many smaller ones. I almost feel like we should bury them. The horns, I mean. It’s like the unicorns’ spirits just died the minute those men cut off the horns.”
“In Nazwimbe, we burn the dead. We could try to burn the stallion’s horn when we make camp tonight. Wherever that may be.”
A broad smile appeared on Kara’s face, but her eyes remained downcast. “I’d like that. And I think it’s right, to do it the Nazwimbe way. He was from your country, born and bred.”
I’d never tried to burn ivory before. I didn’t even know if it was flammable, but for her, I would try. I would build the biggest brushfire ever seen on the savanna if it made what she had just seen a little easier to deal with. I pointed to the line of trampled grass leading away from us. “At least those men won’t be hard to track. I don’t even have to dismount to look for hoofprints. That many riders will leave a clear trail leading right to them.”
She nodded. “Easy.”
I shrugged, hoping I wasn’t overselling my abilities. “Unless they split up. Then we’ll have to choose which trail to follow and pray we’re right.”
IN A sense we got lucky. The riders stayed together, but we kept riding into the early dusk with no sign of their destination. Our horses started to tire, and the mules refused to trot on, leaning their weight against the leads that tied them to Elikia’s saddle. The mare pulled to a stop, looking over her shoulder at the live anchors dragging her back.
With the sun going down, we needed to find a place to stop and make a fire. Most of Nazwimbe’s hunters prowled the open plains in the haze of dusk and cover of the night. The riders had moved through the plains, along flat ground. I didn’t want to lose the
I didn’t say that Tumelo would fire me, even though I was sure he would. Cousins or not, there was only so far I could push. This would cross the line. I had avoided my village for so long that the camp had become my home. I closed my eyes to clear a wash of nostalgia. At least if he sent me home, I’d be out of reach of Bi Trembla’s wrath.
“I won’t say a word,” she whispered. “My father can’t know either. He’s progressive, but he would keep me chained to his side until I marry if he learned I went chasing after a poaching gang.”
I spat into my palm and offered it to her. When Kara wrinkled her nose in revulsion, I chuckled. “That’s how we seal a deal in Nazwimbe.”
She rolled her eyes but spat into her own hand and shook mine.
I dismantled the tents while Kara grouped the horses together, tightened their girths, and offered the mules some water from her canteen. It wasn’t ideal, tracking a group while dragging three pack animals behind us, but there was no way we could bring them back to the camp without raising Bi Trembla’s suspicion. When I went tracking for practice, deep out in the wild, I liked to go with just my horse, another person, a gun, and enough water to survive. I could find shelter beneath a tree, or sleep under the stars, gather berries, and hunt rabbits. Traveling light made it hard for someone—or something—else to follow your trail, while you followed them.
We mounted up and carefully steered our horses down the ridge to the base of the baobab tree. I could see the area where the two unicorns had fought for their freedom. A jagged circle of frantically trampled grass and the heavy impressions their knees made on the soft earth remained. Kara dismounted again and went to retrieve the stallion’s horn. She ran her hands along the silver ridges and then tucked it into one of our supply packs.
“I can’t see which one belonged to the filly,” she said, putting her foot into her gelding’s stirrup and swinging back on. “There are so many smaller ones. I almost feel like we should bury them. The horns, I mean. It’s like the unicorns’ spirits just died the minute those men cut off the horns.”
“In Nazwimbe, we burn the dead. We could try to burn the stallion’s horn when we make camp tonight. Wherever that may be.”
A broad smile appeared on Kara’s face, but her eyes remained downcast. “I’d like that. And I think it’s right, to do it the Nazwimbe way. He was from your country, born and bred.”
I’d never tried to burn ivory before. I didn’t even know if it was flammable, but for her, I would try. I would build the biggest brushfire ever seen on the savanna if it made what she had just seen a little easier to deal with. I pointed to the line of trampled grass leading away from us. “At least those men won’t be hard to track. I don’t even have to dismount to look for hoofprints. That many riders will leave a clear trail leading right to them.”
She nodded. “Easy.”
I shrugged, hoping I wasn’t overselling my abilities. “Unless they split up. Then we’ll have to choose which trail to follow and pray we’re right.”
IN A sense we got lucky. The riders stayed together, but we kept riding into the early dusk with no sign of their destination. Our horses started to tire, and the mules refused to trot on, leaning their weight against the leads that tied them to Elikia’s saddle. The mare pulled to a stop, looking over her shoulder at the live anchors dragging her back.
With the sun going down, we needed to find a place to stop and make a fire. Most of Nazwimbe’s hunters prowled the open plains in the haze of dusk and cover of the night. The riders had moved through the plains, along flat ground. I didn’t want to lose the
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