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Nervously, I pulled in my lower lip and chewed on it, realizing just how far ahead we had ridden of the rest of our group. "Shouldn't we wait for the others?"
The moment my words were out, I realized they had been the wrong ones, as his head jerked to the side. "I'm fully capable of protecting you, kallini."
"I didn't—" My words were interrupted by a snorting sound coming from the left.
"Brogan," I screamed, as a marcor—a boar-like creature—charged through the underbrush, straight for Brogan.
Marcors were territorial herd animals. They lived off mushrooms and other plant waste on the ground but weren't beyond eating carrion either. They were one of the few animals that didn't go into hibernation during the cold season. Huddled, they gave each other the warmth they needed to survive during the frost. They were also formidable foes. First, because they always lived in herds, and second, because of their very sharp and long fangs. Six legs allowed them to be fast and, despite their heavy body weight, they were extremely agile.
Their long tails were set with sharp barbs that could slice a man's flesh right off his legs.
Vespa, being a trained warhorse, pulled hard enough for me to lose my hold on his reins to get to his master while Samju reared. Normally Samju would never hurt me but even though he was trained for battle he wasn't battle-tested like Vespa who raced forward to defend his master with his life, while I tried in vain to hold on to Samju's saddle and to keep him from running off.
Instinctively, he knew the marcor was a threat, something he had never encountered before because I had never taken him on a hunt, I had only used him to herd the other horses. An oversight I was beginning to regret.
"Vespa, back," Brogan instructed his horse, who, to my utter disbelief, did so, more like a well-trained dog than a horse.
Brogan readied himself to spear the charging marcor with his sword. Mesmerized, I watched the man who had made such tender love to me during the night as well as this morning. His entire body was poised for a fight, all his muscles tensed to the max, and I couldn't help but admire his bulging biceps and the way the muscles rippled on his back.
He was a heavily muscled man, wide, but light on his feet as he jumped up when the marcor reached him, while simultaneously plunging his sword into the animal's hide.
The marcor's scream was cut short as the tip of Brogan's sword pierced its heart. The scent of blood instantly filled the air and sent Samju over the edge. Kicking like never before, he bucked, and I finally lost my hold on him and flew off his back in a wide arc.
"Alahna!" Brogan cried out right before I landed in a very thorny bush.
Too stunned to be mad at Samju, who took off, I shook my head. A snorting sound caught my attention, and I barely caught sight of three dark bodies before they charged at Brogan, who had his back turned to the new threat, staring at me with concern.
"Behind you!" I yelled.
Vespa turned and kicked at the first marcor with his sharp hooves while Brogan sidestepped a second, slicing at a third.
I tried in vain to free myself from the thorny bush, but as soon as I got one piece of clothing free, another got stuck.
Brogan moved away from me to distract the marcors, who would have undoubtedly made mincemeat out of me.
Vespa was stomping the one he had stunned to the ground, while Brogan turned in a circle, keeping an eye on the other two now stalking him like predators.
I pulled hard on my sleeve and lost most of it to the bush, but at least I had one arm free now and managed to pull out my small eating dagger to cut at my thorny opponent, all the while keeping one eye on the fight.
The odds seemed to even out a bit as Vespa was done with his foe and joined Brogan's side like a comrade-in-arms.
A thrown spear took one down and with a sigh of relief, I realized our group had finally caught up with us. Brogan killed the other and turned his concerned gaze to me.
"Alahna, are you alright?"
I stopped my futile fighting with the bush and stared at him. He was barely out of breath, holding an elated expression on his face, and I realized the fight had exhilarated him.
He strode toward me with his sword raised, but I wasn't frightened; I was too mesmerized by his magnificent physique.
With a couple of well-placed strikes of his sword, he freed me from the thorns and fussed over my scratched skin, which bled in a few places.
"You're wounded." Worry wrinkled his face.
"It's nothing," I said, dabbing at the scratches with the piece of my sleeve I ripped from the bush's clutches.
"It's not nothing, you're bleeding," he stated stubbornly.
"We'll be eating well for weeks," one of the men in our group remarked as he and the others began to cut the dead marcors into pieces that were easier to transport.
