The buckskin-colored sarril sniffed Storm. Then he tilted his head and looked Storm straight in the eye like a bird of prey might. Then he spun around and trotted off, smacking his tail into Storm's face for good measure.
"He didn't go for my throat," Storm noted hopefully.
Dove snorted, and with only a hand signal she called the golden-tan stallion back. The reddish-skinned half-human healer pointed to Storm and made another sign, while her husband—Smoke, of course, the Kinn-lai leader—whispered with some of his tribemates from atop his own mount.
The horse pinned his ears at Storm.
"Don't give me that look. I might not be the rider these elves are, but I'm not that bad."
The horse pawed the grass, or rather tore a large chunk of it from the earth. His tail swished irritably.
"I don't see why you'd want to kill me," Storm told him. "I haven't done anything to you."
"Well, get on already," Smoke prodded.
Storm raised an eyebrow at Dove, who shrugged and nodded—not too encouraging, since she'd watched another sarril almost tear him to shreds once without batting an eye. Still, he stepped forward and—bracing himself to be flung and trampled—leapt lightly onto the stallion's back. Funny how he was willing to do this but not go in giant-fish-infested water.
The horse tensed.
Storm tried to relax, and scratched the horse's neck in case that would help. The stallion's coat, like those of many sarril, glistened like metal in the sun... kind of like his copper stripes, really. "Easy, I'm not going to do anything."
The horse turned his head to eye him, but only flicked an ear.
If Storm hadn't known better, he might've thought Smoke was nodding.
. . . . . .
"Here," Storm told his mount one day, when they'd traveled south to escape the snow (which made the ground too slippery for maximum speed), "you hold still, and I'll get us each an apple. Deal?" They were near a human village, though the Kinn-lai weren't the type to let mortals know they were around, and he'd spotted the apple tree which had apparently escaped from its birthplace in someone's garden from a long distance off.
The buckskin stallion (the Avari didn't name their animals, but Storm personally was calling this one Snapper because of the number of times it had bitten him already) pawed but held still, and Storm cautiously rose into a crouch on the sarril's back. The horse had bucked him off many times over the past weeks, but he was determined to earn at least its grudging respect, and he knew it understood at least some of what he was saying. He took a deep breath, then stood up fully and reached for an apple.
Snapper reared and yanked an apple off the tree with his own teeth, sending Storm tumbling to the ground.
Storm sat up and brushed himself off. "Yeah, saw that coming."
The horse lowered his head to munch his apple, which he really hadn't needed to rear to grab since there were plenty on the ground, and casually kicked out at Storm when the elf tried to get back on.
. . . . . .
"Race you."
That was the ultimate challenge among the Kinn-lai, and Storm took it to mean Smoke thought he could at least stay on his horse for a couple of minutes. He and Snapper had made a lot of progress—and good thing, too, since he'd been with the Kinn-lai for over a month.
Smoke whistled without further warning, and his sarril whirled and dashed away. Storm was insanely proud when Snapper actually waited (mostly) for him to do the same, and they were off! It took only a few long strides before both sarril were in their full, flying signature trot, Snapper only a horse-length behind Smoke's burnt-black mare; the speed was blinding. Storm could feel the sheer power of the muscles beneath him, and it made his heart pound. "Go!" he called to his mount.
Snapper's black-tipped ears flicked back, and suddenly his gait changed, both hind legs coming forward almost together, and his even steps became long bounds. Sarril could gallop, Storm had learned; they just did it only when they needed to go really, really, really fast.
Storm and Snapper skidded to a stop—that was another thing sarril did better than normal horses—at the outskirts of the Kinn-lai camp, a half-second ahead of Smoke and the black mare. "WOOHOO!" Storm yelled, ignoring the snickers he drew from the tribe. He was pretty sure Smoke had let him win, but he was proud anyway.
Snapper launched himself a sarril-height in the air, sending Storm flying off.
Leave a review or I'll send Snapper AND the wolf from last chapter after you.
