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She tightened her fists in front of her in a defensive pose, ready for whatever might come of the burly, enraged man bearing down on her.
But the meaty fist never connected with her face. It was caught on the downward strike by a fist that was even bigger.
Sorin’s fist.
Effortlessly, he pushed the man back and twisted his arm.
Divina couldn’t help but wince vicariously when she heard a gruesome snap followed by a blood-curdling scream as the arm was wrenched out of its socket.
The man fell to the ground, rolling in pain.
Sorin stepped right over him to the next man in line, the one wielding the whip. As he raised it to strike Sorin, the warrior caught the ends as they snapped with a twist of his arm, and pulled.
The man was yanked immediately to the ground, a spray of rocks and dirt hitting his face.
Sorin then lashed out with the whip at a third man, still holding onto heavy chains that restrained the horse.
He yelped as the whip slashed three red lines into his shoulder and back. At the same time, the horse tugged on the chains, pulling loose of him, as well as the last man who held the chains.
“Watch out!”
Divina heard Ere’s cry as she saw one of the men advance on the horse and Sorin with a broad sword, while another picked up the pitchfork and did the same.
The horse struggled with its shackles, snorted and pranced, pulling and pushing. Until finally, it loosened its bindings enough to rear up, kicking its freed front hooves before crashing them down upon one of the men who attacked it, uncaring of the spikes of the pitchfork.
Sorin dealt methodically with the other man, yanking the sword from his hands and keeping him on the ground with the blade at his throat.
“Enough,” the warrior rumbled. His deep, authoritative voice carried despite its quietness.
Everyone stopped struggling.
Including Chewie, who came bounding back to Divina and sat down by her side, declaring to all that she was under his protection.
“Good boy,” she murmured and ruffled the fur on top of his head.
“You have no right to interfere,” the man who appeared to be the leader, the one with the dislocated shoulder, gritted out.
“That horse is ours. We were just teaching it a lesson.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind us teaching you a lesson after we immobilize you with chains, whip you, and prod you with a pitchfork,” Divina growled.
Sorin sent her a look that made her press her mouth into a thin, angry line.
To the men he said, “The horse is free. It comes from the herds that roam the coasts, I gather. You have no more right to it than anyone else.”
“If we tame it, then it’s ours,” the leader said stubbornly.
The horse neighed and shook its head up and down and side to side, as if it was vehemently disagreeing with the human’s statement.
“Well, you clearly haven’t tamed it,” Divina pointed out. “It looks like it wants to stamp you into the ground.”
“We were in the process of making it tame,” one of the other men inserted, groaning when he stood and swayed on his feet from the injuries that Sorin inflicted.
“You can’t tame a wild animal by force,” Divina said, not that she had the patience to explain things to these pea-brained heathens.
“You can only tame them if they want to be tamed. And even then, it’s merely their choice to allow you in their presence, to interact with them. They will always be wild at heart.”
But if a person was lucky, a wild thing would gift them with their trust, even their devotion. Just like Chewie did with Divina.
