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Dark Equus.
Young Eirik grew and thrived throughout that winter. Raissa learned to love the little boy who was not of her expectations, and Sven made a magnificent recovery integrating once more into the circle of men, and re assuming his second in command status.
Bennett never chose to raise the matter of the damming amulet with Sven, though his curiosity burned to know the entire story. However some things were better left to lie.
His henchman had suffered more than enough for any transgression he may have committed. In spite of this Sven seemed to hold no malice at all toward his younger brother, though the price he had paid to cover Aran's actions was high. In light of this Bennett now watched Aran carefully, in recent months he had noticed the young man's confidence, and prowess blossom. He seemed less content to stay on the sidelines, and had he not taken up the mantle of leadership swiftly in Bennett's absence? He liked it not. All these things being reason to now feel uneasy over Aran's presence.
The rains came, they were bountiful, assuring the soil would be in fine shape to plant the spring garden. Abundant grasses, white and yellow carpets of wild flowers bloomed on the usually barren sands, the endless miles of them stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see.
The horses, and mules regained their vigor. The flock of goats depleted numbers swelling with the arrival of many young kids, ensuring an ongoing food supply for tough times. Bennett had mended his relationship with his old friend, and Sven and Aran had been given the gift of just being brothers again. Both men enjoying the kudos of being the uncle and father to the newest member of the camp. Raissa too basking in the attention her baby afforded her, she felt like some kind of celebrity.
If all this bounty was not enough there was no evidence of any kind they had been located by their enemies and traced to this valley. With a reduced force to feed there was less of a strain on the food supply, and life was as easy as it had been for many years. Freed from most of the pressures of the past few months, there was time to see to many tasks that had been left long neglected.
The western pass though heavily overgrown was shored up to prevent the passage of intruders. The stores were inventoried and restocked, most of the dry rations were spent, the alcohol all but gone. Though there were still quite a respectable cache of weapons and ammunition. Order was returned to the huts and the workings of the camp.
Nathan was interred in the unused shipping container that faced away from Bennett's own, with a view of the dried river bed. He was provided with a simple pallet and a place to shelter from the weather. Chained securely about the ankle that he might perform some useful work in the garden and gather if he so wished with the other slaves in the camp's centre.
The teenage boy felt abandoned and cast aside it was a bitter pill. He would watch his Master as he came and went from the adjoining cabin, but it was as though Nathan no longer existed. The boy could hear the menacing man in there enforcing his reign of dominance over his captive. Black jealousy simmered ever below the surface of the impressionable youth, like summer grass waiting for a forest fire.
*****
Aran had prepared to go hunting today, he was not so skilled with the bow as he was with a gun, but Bennett had forbidden the use of all firearms for something as mundane as everyday food gathering. Bullets were more precious than gold, and there was no sense in alerting the attention of any unwanted passers-by to the hidden encampment, especially now their defensive force had been greatly reduced in number.
So the warrior left the valley early that day to scout the plains above, stopping as he passed the horses grazing on the poached egg daisies, the blond man eyeing Renard's roan gelding and toying with the idea of riding him. It would make hunting an easier and swifter proposition, but the suburban educated man had very limited experience with horses.
He could only recall riding a horse once on a holiday by the beach with his brother, the riding school equine so docile it did no more than plod even with his more daring brother kicking it in the ribs. The only thing that seemed to move it was a carrot or similar treat.
Perhaps horses were not for him, though he could see the wisdom in learning to ride as well as Renard could. Still it seemed hard to trust a thousand pound animal that had a mind of its own. Sven rode on occasion clumsily, Aran figured he should too. Approaching the roan, hand extended, echoes of the beach holiday still reverberating in his head. The waves breaking, the screeching gulls overhead in the clear blue skies, his brother calling to him.
Aran was jerked back from this reverie swiftly as the horse shied away from his hand like it had been touched with a white hot iron. The other horses bolting with him, and the moth eaten mules as well.
"Horses, stupid animals, waste of time!" Aran spat, turning on his heel and ascending the steep path all thoughts of riding gone, lamenting the passing of the combustion engine.
*****
The day was a fine clear one, a few fluffy white clouds dotted the otherwise uncluttered skies, and the breeze was a light one from the southwest. Todd on the watch acknowledged Aran as he passed by nonchalantly. The high ground here was flat and windswept, with the occasional rocky ironstone promontory to break the vista of smooth red sand and undulating sea of wild flowers. Aran cast about him, hand shielding his keen green eyes beneath his golden brows from the glare, looking for any telltale sign of game. He could see no trace of movement in the spiked grasses, or in the dark recesses of the ironstone. So Aran wandered further and further from the valley in ever widening circles, he had all day, there was no pressing hurry.
The sun reached its zenith announcing midday, the thus far unsuccessful hunter was thirsty so he stopped for a drink from his canteen in the welcome shade of a rocky overhang. Small skinks scurried from the rocks startled by the intrusion to their usually deserted haven, as Aran made himself comfortable on the unyielding stone. It was uncharacteristically warm this day for winter and in no time the young man found he was dozing in the shade.
The thrumming of horses hooves tore him from the welcome verges of slumber. Invaders! Was all Aran could think. He rose into a cautious crouch with all the athleticism of a big cat, one hand on his dagger loosening it from his belt, bow in the other. The thump of hooves advanced on his hiding place, it was an uncomfortable feeling to be thus cornered. Aran electing to sheathe his dagger and pulling an arrow from the quiver on his back to string his bow, the deadly barb poised, and ready to fly.
A shaggy black hoof pawed at the sand, the only place Aran had seen horses like this were in the service of the Wolf Lord's knights. The man tensed and swallowed hard as the second glossy hoof came into sight and the massive wither of the animal. Its coat shone blue black of almost an almost unnatural sheen, and before he could prepare to attack, the entire beast came into full view.
Aran at once letting his bow's aim fall to the sand, the horse wore no harness and was riderless, clearly no threat to anyone. Aran was not convinced immediately the horses' presence was not some kind of a trap. This fine animal was too valuable to just be running free in the desert not belonging to anyone. He waited patiently, ears straining for any trace of sound. The fine mare did not leave the precinct of the overhang, instead rearing and cavorting in tight circles her dark eyes on him, pawing at the earth raising clouds of sand.
The warrior did not know what to do, but he reasoned that if there was indeed any threat present it would have presented itself by now, so cautiously, bow at the ready he exited the overhang and approached the fretting animal. The mare stopped as he drew near becoming most calm. Aran reached to touch its jet wither an easy eighteen hands in height. The great horse sniffed at the warrior expelling great puffs of warm air like a fire breathing dragon on Aran's exposed flesh catching his scent. The man sliding his hand gently over the mare's huge arched neck toward her noble head coming to rest finally on her velvet nose.
Always one to take in his surroundings Aran turned to survey the sands, and could see the horse had possibly approached from the direction of the valley. This was disconcerting and he felt compelled to at once return home. He gathered his weapons to him and made to leave, the large mare nudged him in the shoulder as he turned away, almost pushing him to the ground. He was surprised at her power. It was then he decided perhaps he could ride?
Aran was nervous about this, but had watched Renard and even Sven ride many times, was it really that hard? Bracing himself, he leapt up onto the horse's back. He was no light man, but the animal did not flinch. Aran was both surprised and excited at this wishing he had some rope to make a crude bridle. In absence of this all he could do was entangle his hand in the animal's voluminous mane and gingerly he urged the beast forward.
The mare went eagerly, obeying even Aran's clumsy signals, he almost fell when the horse broke into a trot, only saved by animal progressing into a smoother canter. The steed effortlessly covered the shifting sands, the warrior clinging to its great back feeling a sense of euphoria. To be one with this magnificent animal felt natural in a way he could not explain, and all too swiftly the valley came into sight in the far distance.
