Note: An _each_ is a bipedal saddle animal, like a taun-taun but less smelly. The _ch_ is a spirant _k_ sound, like Gaelic loch. (This is because it _is_ the Gaelic word for horse—I was lazy.)
-~-~-~-
It has been warm today, for the time of year. My younger brothers are playing spatball under the luis trees. The ball goes into the long grass.
"Little silly!" Ben yells.
They hunt for it, brushing the waving tassels aside, and start a mock-wrestling match, all struggling arms and legs and curly heads among the tall stems.
Our mother calls out from the colonade, "Time for your milk, boys!" and they scramble up, running for the house. We have always had milk at bedtime, for as long as I can remember. There was one special mug—a white one with a blue rim—that we always squabbled over when I was little.
I walk down to the stable. The sun is setting in a golden haze. Summer's coming and soon the luis trees will be blossoming.
The stable is cool and dark, with the familiar smell of the _eachi_. One of them leans over its rail to lip at my palm. I grab a handful of food from the bin where it's stored and hold my hand out, making soft crooning noises.
Ben comes in, with a milk moustache.
"I found the ball," he says. His voice is in the process of breaking, and he is taller than I am now—I can't really call him my little brother any more. He swings on the rail, kicking his heels.
"Can we go for a ride tomorrow morning?"
"Sure," I say, and he grins.
"I'll kick you out of bed early then, shall I?"
I aim a blow at his ribs, and he dodges.
"Just you try it, Ben. Just try it."
He laughs and drops off the rail, turns a cartwheel out of the door and runs off up the garden.
Moonlight and shadow dapple beneath the trees. I can hear a grasshopper singing, and another near the pond answering it in counterpoint. The closest _each_ whickers and rubs its chin along the rail, twitching its ears.
But there shouldn't _be_ moonlight! There was a new moon last night!
Blind terror fills me. My knees tremble. I start forward, through the door, trying to call to Ben, but my mouth is too dry.
I look up. The ground trembles beneath my feet, and I—
-~-~-~-
It has been warm today, for the time of year. My younger brothers are playing spatball under the luis trees. The ball goes into the long grass.
"Little silly!" Ben yells.
They hunt for it, brushing the waving tassels aside, and start a mock-wrestling match, all struggling arms and legs and curly heads among the tall stems.
Our mother calls out from the colonade, "Time for your milk, boys!" and they scramble up, running for the house. We have always had milk at bedtime, for as long as I can remember. There was one special mug—a white one with a blue rim—that we always squabbled over when I was little.
I walk down to the stable. The sun is setting in a golden haze. Summer's coming and soon the luis trees will be blossoming.
The stable is cool and dark, with the familiar smell of the _eachi_. One of them leans over its rail to lip at my palm. I grab a handful of food from the bin where it's stored and hold my hand out, making soft crooning noises.
Ben comes in, with a milk moustache.
"I found the ball," he says. His voice is in the process of breaking, and he is taller than I am now—I can't really call him my little brother any more. He swings on the rail, kicking his heels.
"Can we go for a ride tomorrow morning?"
"Sure," I say, and he grins.
"I'll kick you out of bed early then, shall I?"
I aim a blow at his ribs, and he dodges.
"Just you try it, Ben. Just try it."
He laughs and drops off the rail, turns a cartwheel out of the door and runs off up the garden.
Moonlight and shadow dapple beneath the trees. I can hear a grasshopper singing, and another near the pond answering it in counterpoint. The closest _each_ whickers and rubs its chin along the rail, twitching its ears.
But there shouldn't _be_ moonlight! There was a new moon last night!
Blind terror fills me. My knees tremble. I start forward, through the door, trying to call to Ben, but my mouth is too dry.
I look up. The ground trembles beneath my feet, and I—