Page 57 of Wind Rider

“Wouldn’t your Bard be? And, yes, Ghost is completely sane.”

“Ghost? Wait—did he Choose you?”

“Of course not. I’m Anjo’s Rider. It’s just what I call him. He doesn’t mind.”

“Then this truly is a mare’s luck. And we must take him back to the Herd,” Clayton said.

“We—meaning Anjo and me—were just doing that before you interrupted.”

“Um, River, he was running from you.”

“Of course he was! We were playing tag, you fool!”

Clayton’s look darkened. “How would I know that? He’s a rogue stallion. I saw you chasing him. What wouldyouhave thought?”

“I hope I would have thoughtenoughto ask you what was going on before I did anything.”

“River, that’s pretty difficult to do from the back of a galloping horse,” Clayton said.

“Okay, yeah, I can see how you could have misunderstood the situation.” She turned to Ghost, caressing his head and noting that he had stopped trembling and was standing quietly between her and Anjo—though his attention remained focused on Clayton and Bard.

“So, he was returning to the Herd of his own will?” Clayton asked.

“Yes. Anjo and I met him last spring. He saved us from a Flyer and a pack of yoties. He’s followed us from campsite to campsite. We thought we’d lost him last winter, but this spring he was there again—healthy, if thin.”

“And he’s actually sound? And sane?”

“Do you not believe I can judge the health of a stallion?” River said, exasperated.

“Yes, of course, I’m just—just shocked. And amazed. And excited. If he can survive and thrivewithouta Rider, this changes everything.”

River looked up at the beautiful golden stallion. “Yes, he can.” She stroked his neck. “If he’ll still come with us.”

“I still have rope. We can always—”

“No!” she cut him off. “I won’t force him. You won’t force him. Ghost decides—not us.” River looked to Anjo. “Will he come with us, pretty girl?”

Anjo and Ghost touched muzzles. They nuzzled each other and rumbled low, reassuring nickers back and forth, and then River was filledwith a tide of happy relief from Anjo as her voice sounded in her Rider’s mind.He will come!

She grinned up at the stallion and threw her arms around his neck, rubbing her cheek against him. “You’re so brave and smart. You can always trust me, Ghost. I promise,” River whispered to the stallion.

“So, he is returning to the Herd?” Clayton asked.

“Yes. On his own terms—not tied and frightened and forced,” River said. She turned to Anjo, and the filly knelt so that River could mount her. Then she met Clayton’s gaze. “Stay on my right. Ghost will stay on my left.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

The small group headed east, and just before they came to the well-traveled path that would take them to Herd Magenti’s fall campsite, River dismounted, telling Clayton, “I almost forgot. I have to do something, but it’ll only take a few minutes. Go ahead if you want, but please don’t say anything about Ghost until we arrive.”

“Leave you and miss entering the camp with him?” He jerked his chin at Ghost. “Not a chance. I can wait.” As River dug through her saddlebags he asked, “What is it you’re doing?”

River held up a wide-toothed wooden comb and a handful of purple strips of cloth embroidered with Herd Magenti’s crystal symbol. She and Anjo hadn’t seen Ghost in almost a week, and the ribbons she’d braided into his mane had come loose. “I’m going to dress Ghost’s mane and tail with our colors so that there’s no question whether he belongs to our Herd or not.”

“That won’t stop them from questioning.”

“Maybe not, but I’m going to begin this as I want it to end—with Ghost accepted as part of Herd Magenti.”

It didn’t take long for River’s experienced hands to braid the ribbons into Ghost’s mane and tail. The stallion looked spectacular! The bright purple of the ribbons flashed against the white of his mane and tail—an undeniable, unmistakable sign that he belonged to the Herd Magenti.