Page 127 of Wind Rider

“I think that’s the point. Let’s go, but not too fast. We have to follow the ribbons because from here until the finish line the Council is taking us through the badlands, and that’s not a territory any of us knows.”

We will go forward carefully.

Anjo stepped into her ground-eating trot, a pace that was quicker than a walk, but one she could maintain easily without tiring herself—which was good after the exertion of crossing the lake, scaling the ridge, and conquering the suspension bridge.

They trotted on in companionable silence. Anjo kept a steady pace while River navigated, kneeing her mare to follow the marked path that really wasn’t a path at all.

The trees thickened into clusterings of cross timber lines, which meant that they had to pass through sections of post oak, willows, and scrub—all choked with underbrush—and then there would be wide expanses of prairie, only to lead into another section of cross timbers. Within the cross timber line the purple ribbons were scarce—only rough markers at the beginning of the tree line, somewhere in the middle, and then again at the end, which meant that each team had to pick their own path through the rugged underbrush.

“Whoa, Anjo. Hold up,” River said as they entered the second clump of cross timbers.

The mare stopped instantly, turning her ears to catch all of River’s words.

“This section is filled with goathead brambles. They’ll slice your legs. You can even get trapped in them. We need to slow down and choose our way carefully. I might need to walk in front of you to be sure none of the bramble vines catch your hooves. That’s okay, because we can make up time sprinting between the timber sections.”

As if she’d evoked trouble with her words, the squeal of a mare in pain echoed from somewhere in front of them, in the middle of the bramble thicket.

“Can you tell who that is?” River asked her mare.

Blue. She is caught. So is Luce.

“Okay, you stay here. I’m going to help them.”

Anjo hesitated before replying, but finally her words rang through River’s mind.

It is the right thing to do—the Lead Mare Rider thing to do. Help them, River.

Blue squealed again and River took the knife from her saddlebag, as well as some of the strips of clean cloth bandages she’d packed.

“I’ll hurry.”

Do what needs to be done. I will wait and watch for who passes us.

River jogged to the beginning of the next bramble thicket and then she slowed, picking her way carefully around clumps of sticky bushes. Goathead thistles were the worst kind of bramble in Wind Rider territory. Each thistle was small and covered with knife-sharp thorns. The goatheads dotted the viny branches of the brambles that whipped out, tentacle-like, with long, reaching arms that were sticky, like spiderwebs. Many of them rested against the ground, waiting to wrap around horse or human, and trap them.

Often packs of yoties, the ravenous little canine-like creatures who ran in huge packs, made their dens near goathead groves so they could feast on prey that became trapped or weakened from blood loss. Yoties were experts on using the natural world to catch prey for them, and as River picked her way through the bramble thicket she kept watch for clusters of small, beady eyes and sharp teeth.

Another shrill scream from the mare drew River to the right and up a little rise. From there she looked down on a pitiful scene.

Blue was on her knees. Long arms of goathead vines had wrapped around the mare’s legs, holding her in place just as surely as if the vines had been knife-tipped wire. Bright splashes of scarlet ran down Blue’s legs, painting the vines with blood. Luce was just a few yards away from Blue, struggling to disentangle herself from two vines—one wrapped around her arm and the other around her thigh. Blood flowed from both wounds and River could hear Luce speaking to Blue, trying to keep her calm and still.

“Luce! I’m coming! Hang on!” River shouted before she started down the little incline, careful to step over the vine traps that lay all around her.

As River reached her Luce looked ready to collapse with relief. “River! Oh, thank the Great Mother Mare! Blue and I were going too fast. We didn’t see the goatheads until it was too late—then they were wrappedaround Blue’s legs so badly that she fell, throwing me into them. I–I’ve been trying to get free so that I could reach my saddlebag and my knife, but the goatheads kept cutting my hands and then the scent of so much of my blood spooked Blue, and she started to struggle because she was trying to help me.” Luce broke off, crying as she held her mangled hands against her chest, causing blood to spread across her tunic.

“Hey, it’s okay. It could’ve happened to Anjo and me, too. I have my knife. Hold still and I’ll have you cut free in a second, and then we can work on Blue.” River used her knife to slice two long, thin strips from one of the bandages she’d brought with her. “Let me wrap your hands first.”

Luce offered River her hands. They were shaking badly. Blood ran freely from stab wounds in her fingers and palms. “I’m sorry. I know I’m causing you to fall behind.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’d do the same for me.” River gently held Luce’s wrists. “You need to calm down so that Blue calms, too.”

“I know. I’m trying. I just—I just can’t. It hurts so much, and I can feel Blue’s pain, too,” Luce sobbed.

River touched the center amethyst stone in her grandmother’s necklace, feeling it warm instantly. She imagined a purple bubble surrounding her, as well as Luce. “Breathe in—one, two, three, four; and out—one, two, three, four.”

“O-okay. I can try.” The trembling of Luce’s hands quieted as the crystal began to stabilize her.

“You’re doing great. Now close your eyes and concentrate on breathing while I wrap your hands and cut you free.” The purple crystals were all warm now, spreading that heat across River’s chest. She imagined the healing properties of the stone filling Luce. The girl nodded—almost sleepily—closed her eyes, and began breathing in and out to a four count.