Page 88 of Wind Rider

The stallion’s head went up. His ears went back. He pawed the ground with one muddy front hoof, and then with a war trumpet, he surged forward, parting the shocked group of watchers as he bolted at Skye.

“Stop him!” Clayton cried while Bard finally struggled from the trap. The stallion tried to chase Ghost, but he’d passed the limits of his great strength, and stumbled, almost falling to his knees. “Stop him!” Clayton repeated. “He’s going to kill her!”

River couldn’t move. She was utterly shocked, but she heard Anjo’s voice, calm and sure,Ghost will not harm Skye.

People screamed as Ghost sprinted to where Skye was standing, apparently as frozen as River, atop the rock. From the corner of her eye, River saw a dappled gray blur that could only be the exhausted, mud-coated Scout racing for her Rider.

And then the golden stallion was at the rock. His head whipped down, ears still pinned flat against his head, the whites of his eyes showing. He slid to a halt as he reached out and snagged something from the ground in his powerful jaws. Skye screamed while the stallion shook his head, severing the thick, dark body of the lethally poisonous water moccasin before he dropped it and, squealing, stomped it flat with his hooves.

Scout, sweat-drenched sides heaving and body trembling, stumbled to a stop in front of Skye’s rock. Her muzzle reached out to touch her Rider, who was staring in silent shock at the dead viper. Then Scout faced Ghost. Slowly, they touched muzzles before the filly closed her eyes in obvious relief, and bowed her head to him.

As if what he’d done had been an everyday occurrence, Ghost nuzzled the filly before trotting back through the staring crowd, pausing before the Lead Mare Rider. The magnificent stallion bowed deeply to her, and Dawn rubbed his muddy forehead, speaking so that everyone watching could hear.

“Well done, Ghost. You have shown us a Herd Stallion’s place, which is to protect his Herd. Just as River’s Anjo has demonstrated the traits of a Lead Mare—strength, intelligence, and a respectful, loving partnership with her Rider.” Dawn’s gaze found Skye. “Sadly, I cannot say the same for any other filly Riders here today.” She turned back to Ghost, saying affectionately, “May a mare’s blessing be with you, and may you always have a mare’s luck.”

Ghost nuzzled Dawn gently, wiping mud all over her tunic, which had the Lead Mare Rider laughing and shaking her head as Ghost trotted back to Anjo’s side.

Clayton looked from the stallion to River. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

River straightened her back and raised her voice. “Get used to it, Clayton.Things are changing, but not the way you and your gossips think they are. Come on, Anjo, Ghost—let’s get you wiped down and cooled off.”

As the crowd watched, Anjo pranced from the mud trap viewing area, tail high, neck arched, and ears pricked—with the golden stallion trotting contentedly behind.

CHAPTER 15

PRESENT DAY—TRIBE OF THE TREES

A stench hung over the forest. Ralina had decided it was part decay and part despair. Death had claimed the top platform of the old pine for himself. He’d had his Reapers bring the rest of the Skin Stealers from Port City. More soldiers, in various stages of the macabre animal-human mutation the God had begun calling The Cure, had joined his already transformed Reapers. Currently, they weren’t so much restoring the blackened City in the Trees as moving into any of the nests that were still even semi-habitable and gutting the rest of them.

They reminded Ralina of maggots, crawling in and out of decomposing bodies.

A bevy of young women and girls had joined the Reapers. The youngest and prettiest were always in attendance to the God—lounging about Him, feeding Him, often by hand, and, of course, coupling with Him, as his appetite for everything seemed insatiable.

Death had ordered braziers lit all around him on the platform, as well as surrounding the tree he’d moved into permanently, commanding the firepots to be constantly filled with sweetly scented herbs and pinecones. But the fetid smell that hung over the Tribe found its way into the smoke, mixing with pine and mint and lavender to form a revolting sick-sweetness that tainted every breath Ralina took, causing her stomach to heave.

One good thing about not eating much—I don’t have much to throw up.

“Why do you stop? That could not be the end of your tale. The big Alpha Shepherd, Raphael, has not yet reached the children. I must know what happens! Continue!”

Ralina mentally shook herself, and then lifted her chin, trying to reclaim even a small part of the Storyteller pride she used to hold so dear for herself, and for her Tribe. Her voice found the singsong rhythm the end of the story called for, and she concluded.

“Helpless, the girls clung to the ice in fear.

They screamed their need, though no Tribesmen were near.

But the Alpha, born to protect, did hear.

He knew the ice would break

He did not hesitate

His body made the path

Bloody paws striking with wrath.

He reached the children and to him they clung

Weeping with relief—salvation had come!