Winds of Change

By J. Pelletier

"I could blame all this on my grandmother. Shes the one who sent me to this place without even a word to warn that I would wake up in the middle of an arid plain with the sun literally cooking every inch of exposed skin.
Because of her, I was chosen to succeed the current chieftain of one of the four ruling Cities of the plainspeople who inhabit this parched world. A decision that has resulted in a war I have no hope of surviving.
I might be able to negotiate a surrender before the allied territories raze my City to the ground. But what kind of choice is that? A surrender would mean my execution, and I am definitely not ready to die . . ."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 31, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453543825

J. Pelletier

I truly believe I was one of a fortunate few. Not many aspiring writers get the opportunity to learn their craft from an actual published author. I learned from two. One of whom – the generous and talented Joan Hall Hovey – was reviewed and called ‘. . . [a] female Stephen King . . .’ by Rendezvous Magazine. That’s high praise, from anyone. I would like to think some of that ability was passed on to me. When I was little, I discovered talent. But a lot of kids have talent. Later, I developed skill. Now, it’s fi nally time for me to start building from that foundation.

Book preview

 —1—

There was no moment of sleepy disorientation. No confusion. I was just suddenly awake and aware of the pain in my head. A dull throbbing that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. My mouth was dry and there was a gummy film coating my chapped lips.

I was dehydrated.

Even with my eyes closed tight, I knew that the sun was shining. I could feel it literally cooking the exposed skin of my arms and face.

Because of the pain, it took me a moment to notice the heat. A thick, heavy heat that gave the impression of being smothered. Like I was like trying to breathe by sucking air up through a straw.

Weakly, I let my eyes fall open and found myself staring straight up at a cloudless blue sky. A hot wind that smelled of baked earth and dry grass gusted over me.

I jackknifed upright, though the motion sent a spear of pain lancing from one temple to the other.

My stomach churned. Nausea struck with a frightening suddenness. I had just enough time to turn my head to the side before I gagged and threw up. My stomach was empty. Only foul-tasting stomach juices came out.

I spit the bitterness from my mouth, aware of the insects already drawn to the feast. Little black bugs I could not name, stepping through the guck.

Ignoring the fire in my sunburned arms, I scooted away from the mess and then slowly took a cautious look around.

My first vague thought was that I had been dropped in the middle of the African Savannah.

The land was flat and golden, with long, dry grasses. In the distance, almost beyond my sight, there were purple bumps. Hills, I guessed. Maybe mountains. They were too far away to be sure.

Closer to where I sat was a single leafless tree.

I noticed a small herd of some kind of animal a distance away. They were far enough so that I couldn’t tell exactly what they were.

I tried to speak, to ask myself where I was or maybe to wonder how I got here, as if saying the words would somehow enlighten me. But how do you speak to yourself, really? Would it help with the bewilderment and the fear simmering a slow boil in my chest?

No.

I found that even though I knew I was perfectly alone out here, I couldn’t force the words from my throat. They caught there and stuck.

I needed to call home . . . call my parents.

Stupid. So stupid. Phone home and say what?

Hey, mom, guess what? I’m in Africa somewhere. What am I doing here? Can’t say. Are you busy? Can you come pick me up?

Right.

How had I gotten here? I tried to remember, but couldn’t seem to focus. The weakness in my body spread to become a weakness in my brain. My thoughts were slow. Sluggish.

It would have been so easy to just close my eyes and ignore the seriousness of the situation. I was alone on the Savannah. No food. No water. No weapon.

I barely had the strength to sit, much less fight off a man-eating lion.

Helplessness was not an emotion I was overly familiar with and I soon discovered that it was not one I enjoyed.

The plains were vast, like the ocean. I felt small and unsettlingly insignificant here. And very much alone. I was a born and bred city girl. I was used to bottled water. Vending machines full of snacks and the urban danger of crossing busy streets.

I knew next to nothing about wilderness survival. Watching Animal Planet every now and then does not prepare a person to face this kind of thing.

I read Hatchet, once. By Gary Paulsen. Did a report on it for class. The sixth grade? Couldn’t quite remember. Maybe the seventh.

That was years ago, though. I could barely remember the story. Besides, I didn’t have a hatchet.

With some effort, I came to realize that all I did have was what I wore. Jeans and a white t-shirt. Scuffed sneakers with lime green laces. I reached into my pockets and pulled out a set of keys and about a dollar fifty in loose change.

Useless.

I took a deep, steadying breath. Gathered what strength I could find and rolled to my knees. Slowly, shakily, I pulled myself to my feet. Stood for several long seconds, desperately hoping that the dizziness in my head would pass.

The only thing I knew for sure is that I couldn’t stay where I was, and that I would have to be able to walk to get anywhere. If I couldn’t walk, for whatever reason, than I would die in this place. The weak don’t last long in the wilderness.

Mercifully, the dizziness receded though the nausea remained. I was fairly certain that I wouldn’t tip over at the next strong breeze. That was good.

I began to walk toward the only object in sight. The tree. I thought that I would at least be able to sit in the shade. Out from under the scorching sun.

It was difficult, having to focus all my thoughts just on placing one foot in front of the other. I didn’t walk so much as I stumble along.

My throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow. Tired and weakened almost beyond reason, I let myself collapse next to the tree and rested my back against the warm wood.

My mind wandered as I struggled against exhaustion, and I vaguely remembered hearing somewhere that dry heat is more comfortable than humid heat. No one ever mentioned that dry air sucked the moisture right out of your body. You didn’t even need to sweat first.

That’s it, then. I was going to sit and wait until I turned into a piece of human jerky. Even slumped in the shade, I think I might have shaved only one degree off the surrounding temperature.

If that.

The animals I had noticed in the distance were now close enough so that if I focused, I could sort of see them. They seemed to be some type of deer. Not deer, though.

They were thinner. Smaller. Less muscle. More dainty.

Gazelles. Yeah. That was as good a guess as any. Probably weren’t gazelles, but they were definitely in the basic gazelle family.

I watched the animals graze for a time, too weak—too sick—to bother looking away.

And as I rested, something else came to me. Another little part of lore I hadn’t known I knew.

Leopards.

I remembered reading a book once by this hunter. He had hunted lions and tigers and bears. But he said that of all the dangerous animals a man could hunt, nothing was as dangerous as the leopard.

They were adaptable, cunning and ruthless. They were the ultimate predator.

Human hunters—professional, experienced hunters—armed with high-powered rifles and telescopes and night-vision goggles, had waited in trees for hours for a leopard to return to the place where it had stashed its kill.

They had waited with eyes wide open, taut nerves, guns at the ready . . . and had suddenly felt the faint tingling warning that they were being watched. And they’d turned around to find the leopard sitting right behind them in the tree.

It was the last thing they ever saw.

Terror, slick as poison, shot through my veins. Hot and painful. I stumbled to my feet and backed away from the tree. Shivering. Shaking. Unable to ignore the image of leopard teeth closing over my head. Crunching my skull as if it were a melon.

The gazelles in the distance had noticed my sudden motion. All of them stood still, their ears pricked forward. Alert for danger.

They wondered what I’d seen.

Nothing. I’d seen nothing. The tree appeared empty. Nothing moved.

The sun was beginning to set. It wasn’t at the huge, fiery African sunset stage yet, but it would be soon. I could actually see the sun moving towards the horizon.

Had I really been that long sitting? That long resting?

What would I do when the sun was gone? It would be dark.

And didn’t most African predators hunt by night? I have no idea where I’d learned that bit of trivia, but I knew it.

Lions. Leopards. Hyenas.

Those animals were nocturnal predators.

Then there were things like elephants and wildebeests. I didn’t want to be trampled if a herd should arrive. And even though those animals were not predators in the true sense of the word, they were still dangerous. I didn’t want to startle them, and I definitely didn’t want to encounter them in the dark.

I turned back towards the small herd of gazelles. Satisfied that there was no threat, they continued to graze. Wearily. They seemed ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

That’s when I noticed it. A faint, shimmering line of silver.

Water?

I was painfully aware of my dry mouth and parched throat.

Stumbling on weak, numb, shaky legs, I approached the water. A small lake, I saw. Not a river. Barely even a lake at all.

I fell to my knees by the waterhole’s muddy shore. The mud was warm from the sun, but oh so cool. It seemed to draw the heat right out of me.

The water was lukewarm when I dipped my hand in it.

I lifted my cupped hand to my lips and drank too quickly. Gulping instead of sipping, so that water splashed over my chin and dampened the front of my shirt. My empty stomach cramped painfully as I swallowed. A reminder that I’d been sick.

Still, the water soothed the irritation as it trickled down my esophagus, and though my stomach continued to roll, I knew that I needed to hydrate before I shriveled up.

My stomach lurched again, this time violently, and for a moment I thought that I would vomit. I could feel acid stinging the back of my throat.

Minutes passed while I sat perfectly still.

The nausea passed swiftly enough. I thought about drinking more but decided not to risk it.

Too much at once would only make the queasiness worse.

Left with nothing more to be done but hoard what little strength remained, I sat dizzily in the warm though strangely cooling mud and watched the sun sink. Too weak to do much else, I stared with the rapt attention of the truly ill. The sun . . . a flaming orb of brilliant orange. So large it seemed as if it might fall from the sky altogether.

I became suddenly aware of how dark it was getting. Fear tickled my spine.

Lions. Leopards. Hyenas . . .

I intended to be alive come morning.

I stood with some difficulty and stretched; carefully working the kinks out of my cramped muscles. The pain and stiffness was just one more sign of dehydration . . .

Next to the waterhole, the only other object in sight was the tree. The tree would keep me safe from hyenas, but not from cats. If a lion was hungry enough, he’d climb right up after me. And a leopard would have no trouble at all.

What choice did I have? I couldn’t spend the night on the ground.

Standing unsteadily at the base, I took a moment to study the tree. Saw a fork in the branches. Thick enough and near enough to the trunk so that it might—might—be able to support my weight all night long.

This would do. For now. This definitely wasn’t a long-term arrangement.

I knew I couldn’t stay where I was.

There was water, but no food. Barely any shade, for the tree was too narrow to provide a decent shadow.

I needed rest, but come dawn I would have to pick a direction and get moving. My only hope was to find a village. To rejoin civilization and contact the proper authorities. Though I was clueless when it came to figuring exactly what I would tell them.

How had I gotten here? I didn’t know . . .

The branches were high and the trunk was smooth. I started to shimmy my way up, but couldn`t manage to climb even two feet. Tried again with the same result.

Frustrated, I kicked the tree and nearly fell on my butt from the rolling dizziness.

The sun was almost completely gone. The sky was black on black and flecked with more stars than I had ever seen before. Of course, out here I could see them all, not just the brightest ones like at home with all the light pollution bouncing off the atmosphere.

There was a red line on the horizon. The last of the sunlight.

I watched the red fade away, and it was like being dropped in a vat of ink. I was more than blind. I was in a vacuum. Like the whole world had suddenly just blinked out of existence, leaving me behind to continue in a void. Forever.

My throat closed up all by itself and I began to choke. There was still air, but the shock of total blindness was rather intense.

Sweat slicked my body. I could feel it. Feel the terror tightening my chest. Like some great weight was pressing down on my ribcage. I could hear the furious beating of my heart even over the high whistle of the cool night wind.

Well, relatively cool. It was still hot but no longer sweltering.

I hadn’t been afraid of the dark since I was maybe four years old. But this was different. I wasn’t safe in my bed at home. Alone and vulnerable in the wilderness at night.

There came a throaty cough from the dark. Not close, I guessed. But not far, either.

The wind whistled through the long, dry grass. Tree branches clicked against each other. Halloween spooky sounds. I knew what they were, but in the dark they seemed sinister.

Shivering fearfully, I sank down between the tree’s roots knowing that I had no choice but to endure.

It was going to be a very long night.

 —2—

I slept, much to my bemused amazement. And I was still alive, though not exactly happily so.

My burns were really starting to hurt. They felt raw and itchy so that it was like my skin had caught fire. With the sun returned to its place in the sky, it was once again cooking every inch of exposed skin.

Something touched my hand. Softly. Bugs?

Images of centipedes and ants crawling all over me popped into my head. Disgusted and more than a little scared, I flung out my arms and slapped at my hand.

Easy, said a voice.

Sucking up dry, sweltering morning air and wincing at the throbbing pain the sudden motion had caused my burns, I forced myself to look around.

There was someone there. The voice was unfamiliar, though I was coherent enough to recognize it as distinctly male.

The sun was still low, so that it shone directly in my eyes. All I saw as I gazed up at him was a shape. A basic outline. No features.

Hi, I said stupidly. Like that was all I think of to say.

The guy knelt down so that he was no longer just a featureless blob and handed me something. A sac made from some kind of animal skin. I took it from him and realized that the skin contained water. I could feel it. Hear it splash around as the sac exchanged hands.

A bladder? Is that what they were called?

Slowly, the guy said as I tipped the sac up. Lukewarm water, just a little cooler than the water from the waterhole, poured into my mouth. Too much at once. It dribbled from my chin and splashed the dusty earth at the foot of the tree.

Easy, the guy said again and gently took back the bladder. Not too much or you`ll make it worse.

He was right, and for the same reason I’d thought of yesterday. My stomach was empty and I was still dangerously dehydrated. My head spun with a horrifying dizziness. The water I’d gulped sat like stones in my stomach. Hard and heavy.

The guy rested the inside of his wrist against my forehead and his other hand at the back of my neck.

There’s no fever, he told me.

I looked—really looked—at him.

His skin was just a little darker than hazelnut cream. His shoulder-length hair like liquid chocolate. His eyes were strange. They weren’t dark, as I would have expected considering his coloring, but as gray as a morning rain.

He wore soft leather breeches and a heavy leather vest instead. An interesting contrast to my jeans and t-shirt. His chest was bared and I saw that he had the body of a dancer or martial artist. Strong, but rapier lean.

Life, not the gym, had toned that body.

I swallowed, feeling my dry throat pinch, and asked a basic question. Who are you?

My name is Kerrec, he replied as he examined the reddened skin of my arms and face. I tried to place his accent, but couldn’t. It was definitely foreign.

I’m Tempest.

Can you stand?

Now that was a good question.

I nodded the affirmative and Kerrec stood. Quickly and easily. Unlike me, he wasn`t in the least tired.

Terror. Thirst. Hunger. Confusion.

I couldn’t believe I’d woken up at all.

Seeing me hesitate, Kerrec gallantly held out a hand to help me up. I took it, not at all ashamed to be accepting his help. To hell with pride . . . I was sick.

A sharp, painful nausea shot through my gut and I felt the water starting to rise up into my throat. My head spun with a dizziness so intense it was actually terrifying. I clung to the tree just to have something to ground me. So that I could feel that I was upright, even though the buzzing in my head was telling me I was being bent over backwards.

Kerrec immediately noticed my distress. This time, it was he who hesitated. He stepped closer to me and held my arm with a strong hand. Making sure I didn’t fall over.

How long have you been here? A reasonable question.

I don’t know, I confessed. "I don’t know how I got here . . ."

Dark brows rose slightly, as if uncertain whether to believe me.

I’m telling the truth! I said, perhaps more harshly than I’d intended. But really, how do you be patient with your head reeling and your stomach churning something sour because of it? I have no idea how I got here and I don’t know how I’m supposed to get home.

Where is your home? Kerrec asked. Perhaps I can escort you.

Can you cross an ocean? I muttered. I’m Canadian.

Kerrec frowned. "Can-ada-ien?"

I glanced at him, thinking that maybe he was teasing, but his confusion appeared genuine.

You can’t say you have no idea where that is. I laughed weakly and my parched throat ached. My already chapped lips cracked painfully.

Kerrec shook his head. I am sorry. No, I don’t.

Oh, for the love of—! You know where the States are? Look North. That’s Canada.

Kerrec continued to look bewildered.

You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?

It seemed impossible, but Kerrec was looking at me as if I were speaking Greek.

No matter, he said, his face clearing like he’d had a sudden thought. We will return to my City and request an audience with the chieftain. He will know how to help you.

That was good. Very good. I had a purpose now. A destination. And I was no longer by myself.

My relief was so great that my knees nearly gave out.

How far are we from the City?

Not far, Kerrec said. He pointed off in the distance. We will be there by first dark.

My legs were wobbly and weak. My head felt as if it were filled with helium.

Lighter than air.

This would certainly be an interesting trip.

We will go slowly, Kerrec said as he must have seen my uncertain dismay.

I nodded. It’s not like I had much of a choice. To stay where I was would be the death of me. Literally.

Kerrec led the way; walking confidently through grass that was so tall it came up to my waist. I saw, where I hadn’t before, the stiff leather quiver strapped to his back. A quiver bristling with long arrows fletched with some kind of gray feather. The smooth wood bow was in his hand.

He’d put it down when he found me, which was why I hadn’t noticed it before.

A bone hilted knife was sheathed at his hip.

The primitive weapons made me feel better. He carried them with the kind of careless confidence. I felt safe to assume that they were more than decoration.

Kerrec and I walked for a long time through the arid plains and I was proud of my ability to keep up with him. Not once did I complain even though I stumbled with weakness. I was all but crawling on my hands and knees by the time Kerrec seemed to notice that I needed a break. Desperately.

He was clearly annoyed, like he thought that I should have said something. That wordless censure brought a small bit of guilt out of me. The moment of guilt was immediately replaced by a spurt of defiance.

I was sixteen therefore I was far too old to whine. Why should I feel bad that I hadn’t?

I’m sorry, Kerrec said as he knelt next to the spot where I’d collapsed. I am unaccustomed to company when I hunt.

You’re on a hunt?

Yes. He grimaced almost comically and I couldn’t quite stifle the grin that threatened to insult.

What happened? I asked instead, noticing that he didn’t appear to have caught anything.

Spotted dogs, he responded. I have been tracking a herd of black bucks for more days than I care to count. I caught one and was almost immediately set upon by a pack of spotted dogs. I lost my kill.

I asked, Why didn’t you just catch another?

There was no point. They would have claimed anything I caught. Kerrec looked at me, and explained. I am alone, and they were many. I could not defend my catch against them. I would have been killed had I tried.

Oh.

I looked around. We were far enough from where Kerrec had found me so that I couldn’t see the tree anymore. How far had we walked? Two or three miles for sure. Probably more.

I noticed a fat black beetle scurry past my hand.

Kerrec tapped my shoulder and I faced him.

He held out a thick strip of something dark. I stared at the object.

You should eat, he said to me.

Food. Oh. My first thought was that he’d handed me a piece of tree bark. The jerky was as dry and hard as the dirt beneath my shoes.

I remembered to thank Kerrec before snatching the food from his hands. I tore off a huge piece of the tough meat with my teeth.

Hunger will get you rather quickly, I was learning. It nags at you. And when nagging doesn’t work, it starts yelling. Demanding. Hectoring. Screaming, Feed me, you moron, I’m starving here!

I devoured the jerky while Kerrec nibbled on his own piece. Maybe fifteen minutes to rest and recharge and we were off again.

The day wore on with a mind numbing slowness. The heat was intolerable, but what could I do other than endure it? There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go to run away from it . . .

Worse is that the heat only deepened my thirst. It was a constant thing that could not be ignored. Really, it was only a matter of time before I caved.

Kerrec, I finally said. Can I have another drink?

He handed me the animal skin sac. I took it with both hands and drank deeply, this time only managing to spill a little.

Are we almost there? I asked him as I reluctantly returned the water.

Almost, yes, he said. We will reach the river soon, and then follow it west. The City stands on its shore.

A river?

That made sense, I reasoned. Why would anyone build a whole City far from a water source?

We reached the river at some time past noon. Must have been past noon, since the white sun now appeared to have begun its long descent.

Kerrec let me take a moment to rest as he went down to the water to refill the nearly empty bladder and to take a drink for himself.

I wolfed down the jerky he shared with me while we rested. Under the blistering sun with a hot, dry wind shushing through the brittle grass.

I would like to have stayed by the river, where the wind passing over it managed to cool the breeze. Only the thought that I would probably be safer at Kerrec’s home kept me moving steadily forward when what I really wanted to do is fall to the ground and stay there.

We’re almost there, Tempest, Kerrec called encouragement.

I was beginning to lag farther and farther behind. I was pleased to note that even Kerrec seemed to be losing enthusiasm. He just wanted to get home.

I could relate. I missed my bed. I missed my family. I missed familiar things in a familiar world.

A couch. Pepperoni pizza. A six-pack of Coke, and a CSI marathon.

Heaven on Earth.

My mouth began to water. Moisture I couldn’t afford to waste, but hell. I was starved, sunburned and exhausted. What else was there to do but dream?

Kerrec was pulling even further ahead of me.

I gathered what strength I still possessed and trotted to catch up with him.

Minas-Tiron is just over the next rise, Kerrec assured me. His eyes were fixed on the upcoming bump, as if he could see his City—Minas-Tiron?—through the dirt.

Is there somewhere I can spend the night? I asked him, suddenly unsure of what I would do when we arrived. I had a dollar fifty in Canadian currency and nothing to trade. I was wearing all I owned.

You will stay with me, he said. Tomorrow, after you have rested, I will take you to see the chieftain.

Okay. That was fair . . . right?

We climbed the hill together. Kerrec seemed to sense my weakness and chose to stay with me instead of rushing ahead as I’m sure he would have done had he been by himself.

My very first sight of the City of Minas-Tiron was spectacular and for a moment I could do nothing but stand and stare.

There was still more than a mile of open plains to reach it, but even at that distance it was beautiful.

The setting sun painted the walls of Minas-Tiron in desert colors. Golden yellow, warm orange and dusty red. One hue followed another until they were all swallowed up by the indigo sky.

The homes and shops seemed to be made of baked clay. Most of the roofs were clay domes though some were thatched grass from the plains and all had plumes of pale gray smoke rising from clay chimneys. Hearths?

The wall surrounding the large city were made of red stone bricks and even from where I stood I could tell they were strong and sturdy.

I was born here, Kerrec stated proudly, as if he’d designed the City himself.

It’s indescribable! I said, hearing the wonder in my own voice. Like in a story.

Pleased, Kerrec gently took my elbow and we headed together towards the City.

 —3—

Minas-Tiron was completely circled by a protective wall. There were two gates, Kerrec told me. The main gate that I could see and a second, smaller gate at the back. Both gates were closed at night so that anyone who wanted in had to get there before the sun fully set.

Kerrec and I joined the stream of people moving towards the City.

Everywhere I looked, I saw tall people with creamy brown skin and dark hair.

I was a sunburned white girl wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

I stood out.

A lot.

And it made me nervous.

I moved closer to Kerrec and latched on to his arm, earning me a roguish grin from my rescuer.

Don’t worry, he said as we approached the entrance. The guards posted there looked me over, their dark eyes interested. Not only was I a stranger but also obviously a foreigner. Still, accompanied by Kerrec they let us pass.

Relieved, I let go of his arm.

We were crossing what I assumed was a marketplace. There were stalls and shops along both sides of the unpaved street. The sun was setting so most of the shops were being closed for the night.

My stomach cramped painfully and nausea burned in my throat, reminding me that two strips of jerky is not enough fuel for a walk in the park, much less a day-long journey through the searing African countryside.

Kerrec had the decency not to laugh, though I know he heard my stomach’s delicate, ladylike roaring. His lips twitched.

Soon now, he said, his voice carefully neutral. We’ll be at my hut and you can eat and rest.

What choice did I have but to go along?

We turned a corner and walked alongside a sort of fence made of sand colored bricks. The fence was tall enough to come up to my belly, but not too tall to see what was on the other side.

The fence, apparently, was a corral. A corral housing an entire herd of horses.

Yes, horses.

Horses of every color and conceivable pattern. Old horses nibbling warily at their dinners to young foals standing close to their mother’s side.

I’d never been this close to a real horse before. I couldn’t help but pause by the fence to watch them.

Kerrec immediately noticed that he’d lost me and quickly came back.

Sure are big, I muttered as a dappled gray filly came up to me. I reached out to touch her and she reared her head. Nostrils flared, but not aggressively. More like she was surprised. Her ears twitched.

This one is scarcely old enough to be ridden, Kerrec commented.

She’s beautiful.

The mare’s ears twitched again and she lowered her head so that I could rub her nose.

Really, a gorgeous horse. I knew next to nothing about horses, so my word wasn’t worth much. But personally, I thought she was great.

Her legs were long and graceful as she danced a few steps to the side. Her neck was arched and proud. Her head sleek and well formed. A broad, strong chest and lean body. She seemed almost streamlined. Like a fancy car.

Beautiful, but way out of my league.

This is a public corral, Kerrec informed me. Anyone who owns a horse can house it here for a small fee. It is far safer to have them inside the walls. Less danger of losing them to lions.

I smiled up at Kerrec. He was maybe five or six inches taller than me. Not towering, but almost. For the first time, I noticed that even covered in dust from being out in the plains, he was still devilishly handsome.

Heat climbed up my neck. I convinced myself it was just the sunburn. Really, there was more going on than chasing a pretty face.

I was weak and sick and emotionally drained. I supposed that was a valid excuse to mix up my priorities . . .

I gave the mare one last friendly pat on her neck before leaving her to her dinner.