Page 18 of Wind Rider

“Run, Anjo! Run!”

River felt her filly’s relief as Anjo’s stride lengthened, pounding the ground as she ran. The wind whistled past River’s cheeks, making her eyes tear and taking her breath, but her grin was fierce. Anjo’s speed was incredible. The grasses that surrounded them were knee high to the filly, and as she sped across the prairie it seemed to River that they were flying over an ocean of green.

The tree line grew closer, so close that with her equine-heightenedsenses River could smell that there was a creek close within the cross timber line, and she scented something else as well—something darker, feral—something dangerous. In the same moment, Anjo reacted. Her head lifted and her gait faltered.

“What is it?” River shouted as she scanned the cross timbers, trying to understand why Anjo’s senses had alerted them to danger.

The stallion seemed to materialize from nowhere. Later, River realized that he had to have been hidden in the scrub brush that dotted the area before the timber line, but at that instant his appearance was as magickal as it was surprising. He bolted in front of Anjo, squealing and nipping at her, forcing her to turn to her left. The filly panicked and lunged to the side, almost unseating River, who could only cling to her neck and stare, wide-eyed, at the beautiful but utterly crazed stallion.

“Ghost!” She could hardly comprehend it, but she definitely recognized the young stallion. “Stop!” River shouted at him. “Get away!” She even tried to kick out at him, but the colt was too fast. He kept herding Anjo to the left so that they were galloping parallel to the tree line. Anjo’s ears were pinned back against her head and the whites of her eyes showed as she squealed her anger at the young stallion.

Ghost suddenly changed direction and gave her rump one last nip—this time herding her toward the tree line before the stallion slid to a stop and whirled around to face the Flyer.

“Go! Go! Go!” River shouted to Anjo, who needed no more encouragement. At a flat run, they finally entered the sanctuary of the cross timber tree line.

River kneed Anjo so that she spun around, and they watched as the Flyer came at the stallion. Ghost reared and struck out with his hooves and teeth, and the Flyer broke off its dive to circle and begin another approach.

“Come on!” River shouted. “Get under the trees with us!”

But the young stallion ignored her. She could see the whites of his eyes and he was squealing and tossing his head—obviously filled with anger that needed to explode at the Flyer. The dark and dangerous creature screamed its death call again.

“SKRAAW! SKRAAW!”

Ghost trumpeted his own challenge, turning to keep the Flyer in sight.

“Shit!” River cursed under her breath.He isn’t going to retreat and I’m not going to sit here and watch him get killed.Anjo danced to the side, snorting and tossing her head as she filled River with her need to help the stallion. Frantically River unwrapped the wide leather strap from around her waist with one hand as she reached behind her and into the travel pack strapped to Anjo to pull out a throwing spear. She quickly hooked the notched end of the short spear into the center of the long leather strap. Then she tightened her thighs around her filly again. “I’m with you, Anjo. We haven’t practiced together, but we can do this. We have to. We can’t let that creature get Ghost.” As she spoke she also sent her filly images of them sprinting together toward the stallion while River threw the spear at the Flyer.

Anjo’s muscles tensed as she readied herself.

“SKRAAW! SKRAAW!”

Ghost was luminous with strength and rage as he reared, striking out at the Flyer with his deadly front hooves as the creature dived at him, shrieking its death call. He almost caught the Flyer this time, but the creature twisted midair, barely escaping Ghost’s powerful teeth.

“Now! Go, Anjo! Go!” River’s words were all the encouragement the filly needed. She burst from the tree line, racing toward the battling stallion.

The creature was circling low over Ghost, preparing for another dive attack as it folded its leather wings against its thick body. Poison glistened from the tip of the creature’s beak as River used Anjo’s massive forward momentum and threw the spear. It was a decent shot—not fatal, but it did hit the Flyer, scraping a bloody furrow across the creature’s back, knocking it off balance so that it tumbled to the ground, where Ghost, screaming in anger, stomped it over and over again with his hooves until it was a flattened puddle of blood and gore mixed with grass and dirt.

River quickly hung the leather throwing strap over her shoulder andunsheathed the knife she, like all Herdmembers, carried with them out onto the prairie, as Anjo galloped to the stallion. Living or dead, just one scratch from the poisonous beak of the Flyer would be enough to hurt Ghost, perhaps even permanently, so as Anjo slid to a stop before the stallion, River dropped from her back and rushed to Ghost.

“Whoa, boy. Easy!” she soothed as she hurried to the irate horse. River glanced at the bloody mess that had been a Flyer and felt a wave of relief. The lizard-like bird was not much more than a gory stain, and no longer any threat to Ghost or anyone else. She shifted her attention to the golden horse. “Easy, boy. You killed it. All is well—all is well.”

The stallion stopped rearing and stomping the dead Flyer to turn to face River and Anjo. He fidgeted to the side, snorting, as his ears pricked at her. He looked ready to bolt, so River focused on her own emotions. Every member of the Herd knew that all horses are intuitive—all can sense the emotions of humans, even unbonded humans. River stood still and calmed herself and deepened her breathing, and as she relaxed so, too, did the stallion.

Beside her, Anjo nickered in gentle encouragement as Ghost began to calm.

“Good—good,” River murmured. “What are you doing out here all by yourself, Ghost?” She moved a little closer to him and he snorted and took half a step away. River was too experienced an equestrian to chase after a shy horse, so instead she turned to Anjo, whose coat was wet and steaming, though her breathing was already beginning to slow. She ran her hands carefully up and down Anjo’s sweaty legs, checking for bowing or tenderness as she murmured assurances to her. The filly was still a little shaky, but seemed completely sound.

“Sand and water is what we need. I smelled water within the cross timbers, so let’s go see what we can find,” River told Anjo. She draped her arm around her filly’s neck, but before they turned to head back into the timber line, River met the stallion’s curious gaze—which was definitely focused on her and Anjo. “Come on,” she encouraged. “Come with us, handsome. I’ll tend to you, too.” Then she clucked at Anjo and the two of them began walking into the tree line.

River didn’t look back at Ghost. She didn’t have to. With her newly awakened senses she could feel that he followed them just as surely as Anjo would. Sure enough, within several yards River heard running water. The bank was a gentle slope from the post oaks and scrub down to a sandy, willow-lined stream.

Anjo waded in eagerly and River followed her after hastily kicking off her pants. She untied the travel pack from Anjo’s sweaty back and took it to shore as the filly drank from the shallow, swiftly moving stream. From the travel pack River pulled out a square of tightly woven hemp fabric and began to wipe down her filly while she pawed playfully at the water.

“That’s good. Keep standing out here in this cold stream. It’ll help those young tendons.” River crouched, feeling carefully up and down Anjo’s legs again, and breathing sighs of relief, as she—again—found no evidence of injury or strain. Anjo was sending River waves of reassurance and nuzzling her gently when her ears pricked forward and she snorted.

Ghost joined them in the stream. First, he studied the filly and Rider, then he dipped his muzzle to the water. River kept wiping down Anjo as she snuck glances at the stallion.

He’d grown a lot in the past year, and she was pleased to see that he was in good flesh. Somehow he’d made it through a long, icy winter with no visible injury. Sure, his beautiful, silver-white mane and tail were a snarled mess, but other than that he looked sound. There had been a lot of gossip about Ghost after he’d fled the Rendezvous, with the consensus of the five Herds being that the young stallion must be severely flawed. No one—not even River—expected him to live long on his own. River’s mother thought that though the colt had appeared healthy and strong, he must have an internal, not yet visible flaw that would prove fatal. After all, a normal yearlingalwayschose a Rider. It was only those who were sick, deformed, or broken in some way that didn’t bond with their human. River hadn’t wanted to believe it, but she’d been there. Ghost had leaped right over her head to escape the Choosing, so there had to be something wrong with him.