Blindspot, Chapter 6

Let Light Be There!

"It has long been known that one horse can run faster than another — but which one? Differences are crucial."- R. A. Heinlein, The Notebooks of Lazarus Long

Next chapter! I've had a few people ask my why Turkmene horses are so darn smart in my story. It's not natural for horses to be so smart, but these are not ordinary horses. I hope this chapter brings out the idea that they are very unique. There are some ideas I've tossed forward, but the whole thing is not explained, yet.

I also wanted to credit Gillian Bradshaw's excellent historical novel "Isle of Ghosts" as a great resource on Sarmatian culture. I got many ideas from here, and I hope you can read this excellent fiction book that the author based on some amazing research about these fascinating Sarmatians.

Note: In this chapter you'll notice characters using English terms. Of course the characters would not be using English in this time period and region, but these words are used to help with the understanding of the scientific and technical terms concepts in this chapter

Fans of Stasheff's "Warlock" series may also see some homages in there, namely to the robotic warhorse Fess, who always was much, much, much more than he seemed to be.

Disclaimer: And, as always, Toothless, Nightfuries, Hiccup and Berk belong to Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks. I belong to me (on a temporary lease, of course).

The sun was out again, and I relaxed, taking in its soothing rays.

A muscular blond hunk moved around me, massaging my legs, rubbing my neck and shoulders, feeding me tidbits of apples and peeled grapes. Some other of his buff assistants conscientiously made sure my drink container was always full of the freshest libations.

The manly stud smoothly lifted my shapely right leg and positioned it in his hands. Gently he stroked it with a caring, well trained therapeutic motion.

Then, carefully, tenderly, he took his hammer and drove a sharp nail right into my foot.

I sighed, yawned, and took another bite of hay.

This whole horse shoeing business is such a mystery to me. But, the Forge Priests say that Turkmenes outside of the steppes have to now wear shoes. The Broomheads, even in this timeline where they have had less influence than ours, have built roads that play merry havoc with our hooves, iron hard as they are. Gatalas and I had never been long outside of the steppes, so this was the first time I had to put up with these silly iron flat foot covers nailed across the underside of each hoof.

And, to add insult to injury, they didn't even have any pretty decorations on them to show off my lovely, athletic legs. Now, isn't that a fine way to desecrate the art and craft of Sarmatian blacksmiths? I would have been very happy to have even the tiniest drawing of a shrew skull and dandelions etched into the shoes, but no. Functionality over form, for this once. Piff!

Well, I thought, they do have their reasons. The Star Priests had projected the info from Toothless' data and sought similar patterns happening in our part of the continent. They dumped in a few cute little things called "Triangulations." The results? It seemed the danger – and Banadaspos' Dragon Unit– would somehow meet in the mountains that stretched far across the Dānu apara River. The terrain in the mountains was rocky and, at this time of the year, there were other hazards like …

"… Ice," said Dasados to Gatalas, who was sitting cross legged near me, testing my saddle gear and packing away supplies for our journey into our saddle bags. One knee touched against my front left leg, giving him the sight he needed for this.

The blacksmith priest held up a well-formed iron horse shoe, "This is a new invention from Setares. It's lightweight, so Eyeful won't feel substantial drag on her when you two hot foot it for the Dragon Unit. But they also have special hooks that will let your lady prance over the ice like it is steppe grass."

He jerked a thumb towards one of the blacksmiths who was further back, poking tongs into a small, portable hod that kept the coals hot enough for bending horse shoes to fit my particular hoof shape, This was the smaller, rawboned fellow who had indicated his support for us this morning, the youth with the leather bandana tied around his head, hiding his hair.

He seemed to have a unique role among the smiths. He did not handle any of the heavier equipment, but he was the one who had come up with their latest innovations, and it was his slender hands that were vitally needed for fixing the dragon scales to our armor. He also was the one who handled the beautiful jewelry , fashioned the Draco banner heads and chased the filigree designs onto our chamfron eye bowls.

He even could make chain mail, a process that involves literally "knitting" chain links.

You need quick eyes and dancing hands for that. While we Sarmatians did not use chain mail (the dragon scales on our armor were much more effective), we turned some good coins selling it to our allies.

Setares' work is among the best on the steppes. He always "stitches" a small star shape into the hem of chain mail as his signature. After all, his name does mean "Star" in Sarmatian.

On the other side of me, I heard more hissing and snarling. Our dragon kitten was attacking his savage prey of fresh lamb meat again. The blacksmiths had come with a small pail of tender, fresh (and freshly medicated) lamb meat they dumped on the dead grass before moving over to me.

Everyone pretended to ignore the area as a long muzzle stuck of its basket and twitched, and then a gaunt, dull olive brown form slunk across the grass, steppe polecat-like, to the meat. The dragon kitten greeted it with a hiss and squeak-snarl.

::Now, really:: I told him, ::It is not going to attack you. People are going to think you are really boring if you just hiss at everything you see.::

::Don't hit me! I'll bite!:: aquick cringe down with eyes closed, teeth trying to shut off a whimper, but one still leaked out.

When Gatalas and I did nothing to hit him, the kitten had let out a sigh of relief and sat back up on his haunches, again, :: I always have to be ready. That thing in front of me could attack me. What is it? Hmmm… red-brown stuff, shiny and clean. I- it smells… good:: The little dragon had nosed at the meat, ::No slime or mold or glowing poison there. Mmmm. Purrrr.::

He grabbed a piece with his teeth and tossed it down his throat. If a dragon could smile like a Firemaker, he would be all teeth and joy. ::Oh lovelylovelylovely. So that's what fresh meat tastes like. It really is so much better without maggots in it!::

Sad sigh from me. I thought about some Sarmatian kids I had sometimes observed whine when they have to eat fresh, free range, wild herb fed lamb for the third day in a row. Would they ever do that again if they had to live one day as the kitten had? One hour?

So now the kitten was eating, but he would still hiss and squeak-growl. It seemed to be some kind of instinct in him, one I think that was ingrained into him by his species. There is something feline or lupine about many dragons. I knew that both manul wildcats and steppe wolves snarl and growl/hiss when they eat. They do it mainly to warn off other predators, but also to show they are enjoying their food. Maybe it's the same for the fire breathing folk, too.

::Don't forget to growl at the grass while you're at it:: I told the little dragon kitten, teasingly, ::You never know when it will try to steal your food.::

::Really?:: a tiny fluting trill that tried miserably to be a growl rippled through the air, ::But there's so much grass…! How will I guard my food? Stay away! Stay away!::

He crouched as best as he could on three legs, his skinny hindquarters waggling back and forth comically. He then pounced on an unfortunate clump of bunchgrass, grabbing it to his chest with his good front right leg and tearing at it with his sizeable back claws, totally disemboweling it. A most amazing feat, considering grass does not have bowels.

His serpentine, segmented tail unfurled like a flag and thudded against the ground, sending up sprays of dead, rusty-gold grass blades.

I never stopped to be impressed by how long the tail was. Toothless and Her Majesty had very long tails for their size, but this kitten's tail seemed to be at least one and a half times the length of his body.

::Yeh, kill it, kitten! Make it even deader than it already is! It's only impossible until someone actually does it! Go, boy!:: I thought-sent with mild sarcasm.

::You mean it's dead already? Where's the fun in that?: The kitten sat up and shook his head, clearing grass from his ridged, knife-tattered ear sensors.

::Yep, your snarls and hisses probably killed it right on the spot, Beg pardon, I mean killed it all over again right on the spot..::

::Heh.:: He gave a dragon snort and then sneezed, sending more grass blades from his nostrils

::Try thinking that word backwards, kitten::

It took the kitten a few moments, but then I heard a hiss from behind me, ::I suppose you think that was funny.::

::Actually, yes.::

The kitten snorted and returned to eating his lamb, but now he no longer seemed to be bothered by the fact that others were watching him. The healing medicines dosed in the lamb were already making him pleasantly drowsy. They seemed to be doing their magic, though. He had jumped bounds ahead in healing, even showing improvement from this morning.

Gatalas had drifted off to sleep, lying on his back near me, gladly soaking in the weak fall sunrays.

Dasados had left to oversee the main portable forge, leaving me in the hands of his younger colleagues. The gorgeous (well, at least for an overgrown ape) blond black smith, the young one who had lit the fires this morning, gently put my hoof back down on the ground.

He started to work on the last hoof, lifting the left back hoof and bracing it between his knees. His back was to me, and I know many a horse or donkey that would have used that opportunity to plan some tooth attack or other.

I was too smart to waste my time on such shenanigans. Well, at least today I was. I had gained my wisdom the first time I had tried it as a silly filly, practicing on a blacksmith who was trimming our hooves- a regular maintenance thing Sarmatians do to their equids. I had done a sneak attack on that conveniently located butt and earned a good crack across my muzzle with a blacksmith's hand.

But I still had managed to score part of his trousers and peel a strip off the pants with my teeth. Well, hey, seldom the victory without some pain.

And, when you are an omega in a Turkmene herd, you need all the status points you can get.

Using a file, the Blond Hunkster took up a flat metal hand tool and began to rasp it across my hoof bottom, clearing the area of any overgrown hoof-horn so that a shoe could be placed across my feet. Just like the horseshoe nails, it did not hurt this part of my hooves, but the sound made me lace my ears back.

Setares stepped to my other side and started talking to the blond smith, his clear tenor voice belling distinctly over the rasping noises.

"There's a world of difference working with Turkmenes, I think," the leather-headed artisan-work smith said, "They are so amazingly understanding and patient when it comes to this process."

"I know," the blond said, moving his sturdy legs so he could stretch his arms to the other side of my foot, "I had to use a twitch on those River Rat stallions' noses to keep them still enough so I could pull off those miserable excuses of horse shoes they were wearing."

His hand skimmed across my inner hoof wall, pressing against the "frog," the triangular shaped piece of flesh raised up in the middle of the hoof.

"The mare's frog is in excellent condition- nice and springy. I bet she makes a comfortable ride for Gatalas. Long legs, smoothly connected joints, well-sprung ribs- for a Turkmene, anyway- well-cushioned hooves. She probably just floats across the grass.

And seems like both she and Rider always come back glowing. I swear, wandering the steppes like they do brings life into both of 'em. It seems some guides really are cut out for their work."

I felt Setares pat my hindquarters. I started to stiffen my tail in warning, but the young man's hands were warm and tingled with energy, and that made me stop to consider him more. With my backwards vision, I could see him meet my gaze. He was so very – to me unnaturally - scrawny and with extremely pale white skin. His pale complexion was unusual for Sarmatians, who are often well tanned and freckled from being in the sun so much.

He also seemed to have a very sparse beard, since his face was well shaven. Most of the smiths usually shaved every few days, so they always had some stubble. And some, like the Blond Hunkster, maintained short mustaches.

Though Setares had a fire-proof bandana tied over his head, his rather sparsely grown eyebrows were a dark red, and the bit of hair I could see poking from the bandana looked to be a very deep, pure, fiery red in color.

His eyes were the exact color of the center of a flame: a deep, deep blue, darkest at the center, and almost azure on the rims of his pupils. Gold flecks danced like sparks in his eyes.

If ever a man had the colorings of a blacksmith, this one certainly did.

"She is a strange color for a Turkmene," Setares said softly, "But she seems to have one of the best confirmations I've seen."

"Eyeful comes from good blood. Her sire and dam predate the Crossing, but they both were used as war horses during raids on the Broomheads. Her dam had so many Broomhead scalps on her harness that the Broomheads were said to tremble upon seeing her and her Rider approach.

"Both of them have thrown good foals. Eyeful's among the best," the blond one continued. He positioned his rasping tool in one hand and wiped sweat from his forehead with the other, "Her coloring is odd, but to be honest it's not rare among mundane horses. It just seldom shows up among Turkmenes."

"Is that why the other Turkmenes act odd around her sometimes? The color is somehow seen as inferior because it's more like mundane horses?" Setares asked, heading over to the small hod and anvil to bring the last, newly shaped, shoe over to me. Nails rattled in the pockets of his leather apron.

"No, it's deeper than that," The Blond Hunkster answered, "My Silverstreak is always telling me it has very ancient roots, when all horses were some sort of striped dun in color. It's some epic about how horses almost died out and had to go on a great journey over a big world of water on a bridge of land to escape a danger. Some influential stallion who was affected by the Lie Under the Earth deceived the Herd into taking a different path away from the bridge so they would not escape the danger and the Lie could claim their spirits. The stallion happened to be this coloring."

He wiped his face again, "They call it the red death color because the horse of that color almost meant the death of the race. He is called 'Red Death Dancer' in their horsey language. It's just coincidence that we Firemakers also call one type of Gatecrasher Red Deaths."

"We don't even have a word for this color in Sarmatian, it's so rare," Satares said, handing the blond smith a strange clamping/cutting like instrument and taking the rasper from him.

"Not true, young 'un," the blond said, now using this clamper to trim away the few bits of overgrown hoof-horn that had not been ground down by my trek wanderings, "You just have not heard of it, yet. We call it 'claybank' after the light red river bank clay we sometimes use for pottery."

That made me think of the little kitten who had covered himself in clay by a riverbank to die. And I felt my heart get a little heavier.

The blond hunk was continuing, "The Slavic people call the coloring 'Red dun'. And I've even heard the River Rats have oodles of horses of this coloring among their smaller riding horses. They call the color something like blay-koor. It means 'pink.' "

Call me, slayer of Red Deaths, PINK? Oy. Another reason to love River Rats.

Then, again, they seem to have a real problem naming things. Toothless' Firemaker is named "Hiccup," for grief's sake.

I imagine alcohol was involved in the naming process. It usually is in such situations.

And then Hiccup had named my Lightning Breather friend Toothless, which was about the most inappropriate name you could give a dragon with such an array of sharp pearly whites.

Ah, I do so hope Hiccup's people address their drinking problems soon.

What'll be next? An epic poem about a great hero named "Outhouse Cleaner?"

At this point I had let myself fall into a pseudo doze, and I think the Forge priests assumed I was napping.

"So, why are Turkmenes so much smarter than other horses?" Satares said quietly.

I heard his voice get briefly louder as he turned back to see if I were sleeping. Seemingly satisfied I was not listening, the two continued talking.

What followed got very complicated, and I was tempted to blow my cover so I could bend my ears back further.

I had never had thought beyond our origin to more than "Stallion" met "Mare" and "he did and she did and they did." And, lo, a foal appeared one day, singing about how lovely the morning was and where was the milk bar?

It seems there really had been some things more sophisticated than I had ever guessed that had been done during our foal hood. Up until this moment, these were things I had remembered as routine inspections of my hooves and legs and chest. A Star Priest or Forge Priest would touch my neck, and I'd feel a little prick in my neck like a fly bit me, but nothing happened other than that. But all of us little ones got these little pricks in our neck through foal hood, at least once a year. Sometimes as much as three times a year.

I do remember one time getting such a prick and then my left hind leg had swollen up, making me limp pathetically. It had been a rather sore point (no pun intended) among the other young Turkmenes. Since I already was the omega of the herd (translation: she who must be kicked. And kicked. And kicked some more), it was one reason more to pick on me. I remember being called "Left Limper" and some foals telling me the Firemakers would slit my throat for good because I was now crippled. In our world, a horse who has a damaged leg is put down. He or she just cannot survive, otherwise.

I remember two Firemakers catching me and flipping me, firmly but kindly, so that I was lying on my side. They ran concerned hands down my swollen leg. I struggled and struggled and squeaked almost as cutely as the dragon kitten.

All I could do was call to them in a way I had never been able to, before: ::I don't wanna die! Don't slit my throat!::

Instead of slitting my throat, the Roxalani Forge Priests just stroked me gently, crooned to me to soothe me, and talked to each other about my condition. At the time there had been lots of Firemaker speech that made no sense to me, but those words now came back to me as Setares and the Blond Hunkster spoke. And I was surprised how well I remembered those words over the years!

Words like see-rum and naykative ree-akshun and ant-ee-bod-ee and unusual blood type.

::Don't kill me, pretty please with sugar on top? You can have all of my sugar for the rest of my days:: I had called to out in my foal squeaks. I was very desperate by now.

Laughter, then someone saying, "What naykative ree-akshun? That was mind speech, folks. This little filly is showing a very good response to the see-rum. I have never seen one so young be able to telepath out like that. I'd say this one might even have an advanved pawsative ree-aksun. But let's give her something for the swelling. I'd wager that came from one of the suspension fluids in the see-rum.

There was a another prick on my neck and I was let loose, struggling to my feet and stumbling off as fast as my left-limping little body could take me.

Indeed, I was better the next day, the limp now a bare memory.

And I did, indeed, become the youngest of my kind to bond with a Firemaker. I was a yearling when I did, still too young to ride, but young enough to start the war horse endurance training. I remember I had to lead Gatalas out of that canyon with him holding on to my tail.

Now, some years later, I heard more strange words as Setares and the Blond Hunkster spoke. They referred to me as being one of the more successful pro toh type of the aks spare mint and how we Turkmenes could provide the sort of low tex suppert that was permitted for the apple-ik-eh- bull tex-nowl-oh-gee in this time frame. We were horses but yet carried something called nah noh mites (lice-ugh!) that made us like a Now-ledge base for Firemakers, but one bred into a form that fit the culture of my people- a people who rely extensively on horses for their survival.

The two smiths mentioned what might be in the serum, but most of the terms were very long and complicated. They did mention part of it involved the gin ache tick material from dragons. Something called Dee Yenay. Since I was meant to be an endurance racer for my Firemaker tribe, the Dee Yenay that was in me was from a type of dragon known to Firemakers as a naitfooree.

They sound like fascinating dragon- creatures, these naitfoorees. Maybe someday I will meet one.

"Okay, Eyeful! Gatalas! You can both wake up, now!" The Blond Hunkster called out, clapping his gloved hands together, "One more gift, and we'll leave you two alone to your preparations. I know you'll ride out early tomorrow."

I opened my eyes and lifted one of my feet, inspecting the strange new covering on its base.

Not bad. But a few coats of paint on the rest of my hooves with some festive death-blood colored dots and some wolf paws would be nice. Why do blacksmith services not include hoof painting?

Gatalas had nodded off, too, but he awoke, yawning in contentment. When he "saw" what I now saw Setares unfurling, he whistled.

"Oh, my heart longs to explode in admiration. That is beautiful, Setares! But I thought that was the Draco for the tribe, not a gift for me!"

Setares was pulling the last leather covers off of a lightweight but brilliant Draco head, "Nah, silly. This is not your gift. Just wait a moment for that. You blonds are so spacey. Probably you even peel grapes to make wine."

He held the large Draco up over his head, balancing it on one small, long fingered hand, "This is the Draco you take to our Dragon Unit. Isn't he a beauty? Sometimes I amaze even myself."

"Not hard considering your usual lack of humility," The Blond Hunkster said with a laugh, clouting his colleague with fake hardness. Setares pretended to fall but then caught himself and pirouetted back around to stand by his colleague.

He then stomped on the Blond Hunkster's foot to put him in his place. All while holding the Draco over his head, completely unruffled.

I thought the Draco was a beauty, myself. I could see the frail looking smith was able to easily hold a sculpture that would have been a struggle for him to raise over his head normally. But this one was obviously light weight and strong.

Otherwise, it was the usual Sarmatae Draco in shape, though Setares had added some extra special detail to the filigreed scales and the whisker sensors, and the eyes were almost lifelike in their dragon-like beauty.

"Setares figured out a way to make the metal even lighter but not lose its integrity, "The Blond Hunkster said with pride in his voice, "So the banner man can move even faster with it."

"Yes, indeed, " Setares said, softly, lowering the head and turning it over so the bottom was up. We now could see it was mounted on a flat, light-metal base that would screw into the banner man's pole, "But the base is what's most important. We have crafted something in there that will help protect your troops."

"How?" Gatalas asked, and I "heard" him whistling a song in my mind, one about a rather cynical shepherd called, I will Believe it When I see It.. but I will Still Die in Joy One Day.

"Ahh, I would not want to ruin the surprise for you," Setares said, "Translation: it'd take a really long time to explain and probably put most creatures to sleep in the process. I am doing you a mercy, Gatalas."

He began to wrap the head back up again into its leather coverings, placing these into a sturdy horizontal leather saddle bag to tie behind my saddle cantle, "But we have something else for you. Courtesy of that Coughing Terrifying Catfish guy your Toothless knows."

"Wha?" Gatalas asked, "You mean Hiccup Horrendous Whatever the Heck guy."

"Indeed. Behold." The Blond Hunkster held up a pair of long leather straps that dangled in his right hand. Each strap was tied to a flat iron, vaguely boot-shaped "pedal".

Both Gatalas and I knew right away what those were for. Toothless had been explaining how the harness he and his Hiccup had been testing worked.

::But my tail works just fine!: I thought in protest.

"But I steer Eyeful with my legs- I don't need to pull her tail to make her turn. She'd kick me to the moon if I tried anything like that."

::Damn straight, sir. But you always did want to explore the moon, no?::

Both smiths started laughing, reminding me they were still younglings themselves.

"This was INSPIRED by the idea, but it's not the same thing as Hiccup's device," the Blond Smith said, "After you shared the Dreampaths description Toothless gave you, Setares and Dasados starting thinking that pedals on saddles might work for horses, too. Not for steering the horse, Gatalas, but for helping support you on the horse.

"These pedals are loose danglers, see? Hiccup's are not," the blond one waved the pedals, and they swung back and forth, "They'll move with your feet on the horse and help you keep your balance. Our saddles are flat, but they still have a bit of a wooden base under them, unlike Toothless' saddle. That's why we think this will work. The saddle's tree-wood under structure will insure Gatalas stays on board, but there is no extra tension spread on Eyeful's back. The design distributes it well. C'mon, lets give it a try, eh?"

This led to the smiths helping Gatalas tack me up. They then proceeded to skillfully carve a hole into each side of my saddle so they could thread the foot pedals' leather straps through the hole.

The straps had been designed so their length could be adjusted longer or shorter as Gatalas needed it. Different holes in the straps would let him slide the pedals to the lengths they needed, then he would buckle the straps closed. The pedals were, to me, very similar to Hiccup's pedal design: a platform shape that held in the front of Gatalas' boots, but there was no guard for the heel; the heel and the toes were allowed to hang free off the platform. Hiccup's pedals held the whole base of his feet.

"Letting your heels stay free will help with your balance and help you kick your foot free if something happens and you need to get off fast, "Satares shouted to us as I trotted past him, my Rider trying to adjust to this strange feeling of not having to rely only on gripping his upper legs to keep me on board.

"This is very… interesting," he said, trying to relax more.

::Come on, Ape Face, sink into the saddle and keep your heels pointed to the ground. Let them take more weight.::

Gatalas did so and then started laughing, "I do think this is very convenient! I feel better balanced on Eyeful's back! You'll have to work harder to buck me off next time, sweet mare of mine."

I snorted joyfully ::I relish the challenge, sir.::

I ,also, was getting used to the new shoes. I had dreaded they would make me slip, but they were comfortable and moved with my feet quite well. I found it quite amusing both my Rider and I were experiencing new things created for us to help with our legs and feet- both inventions by our Forge Priests.

The Forge Priests wound up having dinner with Gatalas outside his wagon this evening, the two young smiths grilling herb coated lamb and root vegetables with Gatalas, washing it all down with spring water and fermented mare's milk.

I sniffed in amusement at the mare's milk concept, but still the priests fed me well, too. Tomorrow I would start a journey, so they stuffed me with all sorts of treats as a sort of sweet farewell: power feed, dates, even fresh apples brought from Nowheresville.

And we all enjoyed honey cake and the lovely honey candy that our Firemakers enjoy so much. It has a secret ingredient that has a real kick to it. I won't tell you just what it is. Yet.

The Forge Priests outlined the route again for Gatalas and I, and they mentioned one of them would be coming with us for the first part of the trip to get us oriented into the right direction and over the portal we believed would be in the area, based on extrapolations from Toothless' data.

As the moon began to rise in the new night, a loud shrieking snarl cut across the air.

"Nightmares, again!" Gatalas spun around at the sound, "I hope the basket is…"

"Ahhh, Gatalas, " Setares joked, "You're a daddy already… at your age." But then his words became more serious, "But it's good you're bringing the dragon with you."

Said dragon suddenly whumped past our campfire. Whumping is the only way I could describe his motion. It was a two part maneuver. First, he was trying to run on three legs. That part was terribly clumsy. At the same time his back and tail silkily arched up and down, like a snake, but done vertically, as though his body was ululating through the air. That part was incredibly graceful. The sound the two actions made was quite curious.

Grace + clumsiness= whumpf.

I believe I had just invented my first equine equation.

The dragon kitten was trying now to savage apart a battered gold chain, the noise coming from his throat an imposing thrum of terror and threat to inspire all beings' hearts to stop from its sheer awesomeness.

At least that was probably his intent.

It just happened to come out as a bubbling chirp.

Still, no one would ever belittle the sheer anger that was in the kitten's golden-orange eyes. He may have been a child, but the rage in the eyes and in the flash of his fangs was murderous.

::Djöfulsins helvítis andskott! Helvítis! Helvítis!::

I realized from our recent battle with them, that the kitten was swearing like a River Rat. Probably the only curse words he had ever learned were from River Rats! He obviously did not know the meaning, only that these sounds meant anger. That was not at all typical for thought speech, where you usually hear the meanings, not the words.

::Die! Die! Die! Choke the way you choked me!:: the kitten shrieked.

Somehow the candle chain the River Rats had tied around the kitten´s neck had fallen out of our saddle packs during our recent unpacking. Guess who had found it?

He now had the chain in his mouth and was pulling downwards, tearing at it with his fangs. We all watched, stunned. Gatalas started to get up, reaching out a hand for my neck to balance him, but the Blond Hunkster pushed him back down,

"He needs to do this, doostam," the blond smith said, "There's a lot of anger in that tiny body."

So we all watched as the tiny one swore and spat and hissed and, one time, sent out a surprisingly loud caterwauler that was echoed by a dozen surprised Turkmene snorts, dog barks and cat yowls.

It was not pretty to watch, especially as the chain was so much stronger than the little dragon's fever and abuse weakened body. His frustration began to mount more and more until finally he squealed in rage and tossed the chain down.

It had defeated him, just like always.

"All right. Now you can help him," the blond Smith said.

Gatalas jerked with his head and fed me an image of what he wanted, "I still am not welcome there, lady."

:: You should be, Gatalas. I wish he would see that.:: I told my Rider regretfully.

I trotted over to the huddled dragon kitten and deliberately smashed my hoof on the chain, bending the links under my stronger weight.

He looked up at me, blood starting to run from where the chain had cut into his jaws. Tears were brimming in the corners of his eyes, but he was trying hard to hold them back.

::You just need to anchor it. That's all. Have at it, kid.::

And the dragon kitten needed no second invitation. He again started to pull at the chain while I ground down on it with my hooves. It took a few tries from both him and me, but eventually the chain snapped. And snapped again. And again,

I heard a grunt from the smiths and noticed with my backwards vision they were covering each others' eyes, teasing each other that this was too sensitive of viewing material.

This was obviously not an easy thing to see when your life lies in creating such objects, but I sensed they totally understood what was on the dragon's mind.

That chain had become the stand-in for the River Rats.

Soon a disembowled chain lay in broken coils in several piles around the dragon.

The plaque with the Broomhead inscription had been trampled by me under the dragon´s direction until it was warped and broken,

Only one piece of it remained, and no matter how I tried to stomp it, that piece remained battered, but intact. It was the part of the 'Lux denique longe alia est solis et lychnorum'. Inscription, but this torn-off part that now only read 'Lux.'

::Sorry, kiddo. This part cannot be destroyed. You'll have to let it be.::

The dragon child was panting now, his eyes emotionless, ::The Monsters tied that chain around my neck and made me choke:: he told me, staring ahead, :: They would pull on the cord with a longer cord they held, sometimes even hang me from the pole of their big up-and-down-going-thing-that-smelled-like-water. They liked to see the way I struggled to breathe. Oh, how horrible it was! I wiggled and kicked, and I could feel the air around me, but I could not breathe it. I think they made funny comments that I was dancing, because sometimes they would play instruments- hide beating things and wind whistling things- while I was rolling around, strangling to death. And they sang to my misery. Then they would release me just before I died. When I tried to get up and escape, they did it some more until the mind-darkness came. And I was so grateful because then I could not feel what they did.

:: That is why I love the dark. Light only brings pain.::

As he thoughtsent, he stared into the fire, ::Yes, I know that fire seems beautiful, how it dances. It makes the dark even prettier.:: Then he growled, ::But fire is for burning me. For hurting me! It may be warm, yet is still light and light only hurts!::

I let him talk, realizing he needed to do this

:: One time the Monsters tied me to a longer chain and tied that to a big, roundish wooden thing that contained the brown, foamy water they liked to drink. They liked that water becaues it made them even meaner and madder than they already were.:: He hissed, ::As if it were possible!::

His head drooped, ::They were going to teach me how to fly. So they perched me on top of the wooden brown-water-holder. And then they threw things at me. They usually used these things to play a game where they hit a wooden board with circles painted on it. The things they threw were sharp with feathers on them, like mean birds. And the Monsters threw them with their hands into the furly things that coume out of my shoulders. The teeth of the things they threw would stick in there and I would scream in pain. I´d jump in the air to escape, but the chain kept me in place, so I could do nothing but fall back onto the brown-water-holder. And they'd throw more things at me until I was covered in my own blood.

The little dragon began to point his muzzle at various scars pockmarking his murky, collapsed wings. ::That´s where I got that. And that. And that. Andthatandthatandthatandthat.::

I thought sent, :: Monsters:: I could not keep the anger from my voice.

The kitten shook his tattered ears, :: I also got some here. And here.::

He hesitated, some new memory dancing behind his eyes. Suddenly he twisted around and tried to hobble-run back to his basket. His long tail got in the way, and he fell to the ground, now trembling.

::Go away. Leave. Me. Alone. NOW!::

Plumes of breath streamed out of his slender muzzle with its almost fur-like jaw sensors. He began to tremble even harder, now with cold as much fear.

I looked behind me. The two smiths had left, and Gatalas was now clumping up the wagon steps. He stood at the rail, orienting on us by the dragon's squeak, his breath now pluming in the cold.

It was just the kitten and I. I believe the Firemakers intended that.

I sighed. The kitten was cold. I knew that. It's ironic to think of a fire beast like a dragon as being cold, but he was under grown, and there was no insulating layer of fat over his skeletal form. He needed to get warm. And fast.

He knew it, too. But, if I could pick up the feelings emanating from his thoughts- the ones he could not yet control – he did not feel welcome here. He was afraid to warm himself by the fire because we would hurt him if he approached us.

I made myself appear as nonchalant as possible.

::The basket is cold, now, kitten. The fire is warm. I know you see fire as evil, but freezing to death is, too. You've escaped those Monsters, and that took a lot of courage on your part. Don't throw it all away, now, when it is so easy to get warm..::

::Go away!:: a snarl, that turned into a sneeze.

I yawned and shrugged, ::Temper tantrums never impressed me, especially when they're against people who are trying to help you.::

::I don't care what you think. Just leave me alone. Naooow!:: the dragon kitten hissed again.

I snorted softly, ::You're absolutely right. I think I will leave you alone. I don't like being around whiners. Pity. I had taken you for someone very brave and determined, someone to admire. I guess I was mistaken. Well, good night. Enjoy feeling sorry for yourself. Fire's here if you change your mind.::

I walked to the fire and planted myself in front of it, enjoying its lovely warmth and the smell of peat and wood.

I sighed. I did not like to use those kind of words around a child, but I also knew trying to reason with him in this mood was not going to help. He had gone into a tantrum, and though he had a good reason to be angry with the world, he was keeping himself from healing with that attitude. And he needed to get warm. So, in this case, harsh words were hopefully a good way to snap the kitten out of a negative feedback loop.

I let myself kneel down by the fire, and I did not have to pretend my tiredness.

I had almost drifted off to sleep when I felt a head bunting on my knees. I lifted my head to see the dragon kitten had limped over to fire and stood by my left side, where I had folded my legs.

::Yes?:: I asked him.

The kitten stared back at me, the fire catching the warm red glints in his orange eyes. He was shivering with the cold.

::You invited me…and I'm c-c-cold. So, I'm here. But only because I w-w-want to get warm. You'd better not hurt me. But if you do… I will bite you and bite you and make you hurt plenty bad. I may die, but I WILL make you hurt. But, I will take the chance. You are the… least cruel … thing I have met- besides the black dragon::

Those words were hard for him to think, and I was deeply touched. So I forgot I was the Bitchy One and nudged him closer to me, letting my body be the shelter between the fire and him. He curled himself up by my left side, nestling in among my legs and laying with his head and side against my warm side and abdomen.

::Of course, kiddo. I know fire can hurt, but this fire was made by Firemakers who have taken good care of me. So, I know they would care for you, too.::

::How do you know?:: the dragon hissed and spat at me, ::Monsters only hurt! And Firemakers are Monsters.::

I gestured with my muzzle to my feet, ::Look at my feet, mate. They are flat and round. There is not much I can do with them but run. You seem like you're pretty smart, so you know someone besides me fed you. Bandaged you. Healed your leg. Took away your fever-burn sickness. Those people were Firemakers, too, but they were Firemakers who wanted to help you.::

::So they could eat or kill me!:: The kitten's thought voice was lost in a pop of wood in the fire that sprayed up sparks.

::Naah. My Firemakers have plenty of sheep and goats and chickens. You'd be way too much work to eat. And, no offense, but really not worth the effort since you're so thin. My Firemakers wanted to help you, dragon. Those Monsters are enemies of my Firemakers. Those Monsters have hurt us and friends of ours. My Firemakers admire your kind. You dragons are a symbol of something special to us. When we see one who has been hurt, it is important to us to help that dragon.

::And, remember the black dragon you met last night? He was hurt by a Firemaker, but that Firemaker knew he did wrong and helped heal him. He showed he was a noble Firemaker in his heart, one with a good life spark. So the black dragon and the Firemaker have seen beyond their differences to become true friends. Let's say there are bad Monsters and good Monsters. I swear on fire, dragon. It was a good Monster saved your life, friend. ::

The little dragon looked up at me, stunned.

::Still seems crazy to me,:: he finally asked, ::As you say kindly pointed out, I am not even a good mouthful.::

I shrugged, taking a jump into the deep, ::Why not? The Firemaker who helped me save you was my Firemaker. My Rider. Like me, he saw there was a spark of light- a spark of fire - in you worth saving. That's what is special to us about dragons. They symbolize the cleansing quality of fire- and that each of us has a spark of fire – of light- within us. It's a gift of power we can use to create… or to destroy. My Rider and I helped you because you deserved that chance to have the spark grow in you.::

The dragon leaned back from me in revulsion, ::A spark of fire in me worth saving? No! :: He growled and hissed in his sadly cute way, :: I am dirty! I am sure of it! I must have done something wrong so the Monsters took me and hurt me! They are punishing me for something evil I did. I have no spark worth saving! I am nothing! Nothing! Nothing::

I could hear his self hatred bang against my skull.

And I could feel Gatalas now behind me. His amazing ability to orient himself had helped him stumble over to the other side of me. ::It's cold in the wagons without my unit. I need to sit by the fire longer. But my foot hit against this as I walked here, so I picked it up, Horsebutt. I think it is from the chain plaque:: He held the broken Lux plaque fragment up.

Both Gatalas and I realized we no longer heard a draconic thought voice. We now heard only the quiet, angry breathing of a child holding back his tears, managing to do so, but it was hard..

::Funny, kitten, how sometimes it takes others to see something you might not see. Both my Rider and I saw your life spark right away when we saw how you fought against your pain to fly away from the River Rats. We saw from your scars how you have bravely clung on through your suffering, fighting to stay alive. Your spark is very strong.

I flared my nostrils and watched the fire send up more sparks, :: My Rider is actually holding that piece of the plaque that did not bend. I think that is because it is the only good part of the necklace. And you made it good. ::

::Good job, Horsebutt.:: Gatalas thought to me , ::And it's true, I think. This piece, I bet, rested on his chest and heart. Translate for me? :: He switched to speaking, now, "I think that little piece of necklace could not be destroyed because it was the one part of the evil necklace that was closest to your brave heart, so it was touched by your strength. The necklace had words on it that meant, 'The sun shines with a light greater than this candle's.' The sun can be the light in the sky, But- ah- uh- I'm grasping at straws here, Horsebutt, so help me! Uh…. i-it also can mean your… your life spark! The sun inside of you. It shines brighter than any other light. Your life- spark. Your Light. Your Lux."

The kitten was too tired to fight. He listened to the hated Firemaker babble, but when I translated Gatalas' words, he trembled again, ::Go on.::

"Yes," Gatalas said after I translated the kitten's words, "We Sarmatians take meaning in symbols. So that's why my Horsebutt and I think the 'Lux' part of the plaque did not let you destroy it. It was showing the good spark inside of you. You still have a spark of greatness in with you. You can let it die out, dragon. But, I think Horsebutt and I would be awfully sad if you did."

I translated. The little dragon shuddered a bit, then buried his face into my chest lined with all various battle scars. . There was silence, only trembling, but then I heard a tiny thrumming croon emanating as his body shook, a very quiet thrumming.

He had years worth of anger, and only now was he letting it out. It was not crying. It was something much deeper. Years of suppressed shock and anger were coming out, now manifesting as healing shudders, shedding off the negative feelings.

::Poor kid, I would wager, blaming himself for all that happened:: Gatalas thought to me.

::And you would be right.:: I replied. ::Thanks for your words, Rider. They were the right things to share.::

::Thank you,:: My Rider wrapped his sleep blanket around his night clothed form and curled against me on the other side of the kitten. I was glad for his- and the kitten's- warmth. And the warmth of the fire. ::I often wish, in the days after IT happened, someone had told me those things.::

The kitten trembled in shock for a long while, and I comforted him as best as I could. . My Rider reached out to place a comforting hand on the back, where the tattered wings met, but he pulled his hand away in hesitation. Instead, he placed a hand on my muzzle, willing his concern to flow through me to the battered kitten.

::So Lux is light. And yet it is a spark of life.:: The kitten finally said, his thought voice settling back into its childlike version of calmness. ::Then, that is all I have left of me. And I am lucky I have it. A tiny life spark. A lux. And that is how you know me?. How you've been calling me when you talk of me?::

::No,:: I said, ::We don't call you that, but we do think of you that way. Among our people, names are important. We would not give you a name you did not want. And we don't know your true name. ::

He looked at me, and also took in Gatalas. :: I don't remember my name… or if I ever had one. But, if you think of me as a lux, then I can put up with being called that name. I have to be called something, anyway. So, I will be Lux. Maybe I will earn a better name later. But, for now, I am a spark. And that's more than I ever hoped I would be.::

His tail lashed a bit softly, as he considered this new name, ::And, do you have a name? And does the Monster have one?::

Gatalas snorted a bit and smiled, sadly. It would be a long time… if ever, that our dragon kitten would accept Gatalas.

I bowed my neck, ::I greet you, Lux. I am Eyeful. The Firemaker with me is my Rider. When you are ready, he would share his name with you. He is a very good being. For now: Eat, sleep, rest. Let your spark grow as you find your destiny.::

That last is a quote from our people, but I diplomatically left off the part about the worms nipping on one's toes in the tombs.

"We still have one more thing to work out with him," Gatalas said to me, totally unphased to be speaking aloud to a "non speaking" horse. His long periods of solitude had made him lose his self consciousness about seeming to speak to empty air.

::Dragon… Lux. Gatalas and I need to let you know we are going on a journey, starting tomorrow. We are riding into the mountains across the River on the Far Side. We are looking for dragons and trying to solve a problem involving them.::

Lux looked back at me, eyes steady, now, :: I am listening.::

::My Rider's Healer- the one who fixed your leg and took away your fever- he wanted you to come with us. You are healing well, and we have a special saddle basket that would help you stay comfortable during the ride. The Healer knows that it is not easy for you to be around so many Fire- I mean.. Monsters. But he wants to make sure you are being treated and healed until you are ready to go on your own. We also want you with us, too. We may encounter dragons who could help you find out more about who your tribe is. But the journey will be very dangerous. I must warn you of that. I am sure there are kind Monsters who would take care of you if you wanted to stay behind.::

The kitten barked, surprisingly puppy like, ::Kind Monsters? Hel, no! I want to stay with you… for now. I believe you won't hit me, but I will hurt you if you do. I don't know about the others.:: He scratched at a sudden itch on his chin with his good front leg, ::I know there is danger, but you have to admit I've been in far worse danger to my life with those former Monsters. I will come. I don't have much of a choice, and this is the best one available, it seems. The fewer Monsters the better. And, if we meet dragons who can help… that is all for the best.::

Lux yawned and drifted off to sleep after a while. Gatalas and I continued staring at the fire. We were both touched by this new being who had stumbled into our lives.

::Your words were wise, Rider,:: I told him, ::He fears light, yet you have shown him another way to view it. And he made that way his own name.::

"Thanks, Horsebutt," Gatalas sighed, "He's making us both look an awful lot like pansies. I might have to take up knitting soon, if you lend me your eyes."

He stretched, "But I saw the way Lux took on that chain and the anger in him. He will grow up to have a lot of strength, I think. He'll be a dragon who will get a lot of respect."

::But it's good you and I are teaching him some compassion, too. That anger could be dangerous if he uses his strength only for vengeance. There's a warm heart under that anger. He should be a protector, not an invader.::

"Then he have to do our best to give him that choice. Eh, any more cutesy feeling stuff and I'll have to change my name to Hiccup," Gatalas laid some more old wood on the fire, "Good thing that's that the Sarmatian word for 'Hiccup' is 'Gatalas," isn't it?"

I snorted, ::Go on. That's stupid, now. You know that!::

Gatalas chuckled, "I know. It's not true. I am just joking with you now."

::Go to sleep, Rider. You are getting even sillier than you already are.::

The next morning I asked Lux, once again, if he wished to stay. The dragon kitten, once again, insisted on coming with us.

So now we stood on the outskirts of camp, Gatalas waiting by my side. I was freshly brushed and tacked up in my saddle, breastplate, breeching and neck harness. Our supplies were packed on me, but they were carefully limited to items that could pack down easily and were light to carry, and items vital for dealing with the approaching winter weather. Speed and endurance was the point of this trip, so we could not carry as much as we did on our guiding expeditions. For example, I had no hay with me, this time, only Power Feed pellets.

And Gatalas had dried meat and barley for himself and Lux, but he was planning to rely a lot on bringing in fresh meat with his bow to feed himself and the dragon kitten. At this time of the year, game meat was plentiful.

The one luxury we were allowed was the basket secured to the right hand side of my saddle. The smiths had altered the basket so that it, too, held some supplies strapped to it. But the inside of the basket was warmly lined with blankets and furs, the space solely reserved for Lux.

The dragon kitten now was poking his head from the basket, right front leg hooked over the rim, taking in the view of the golden plain

::I'm high up in the air now, Eyeful.:: he told me, a chirp of pleased surprise escaping his muzzle, :: You are pretty tall.::

::Heh,:: I snorted. I am tall for a Turkmene, though we aren't the tallest horses out there.

::Try saying that backwards. Whoops! Watch that!:: Lux scrabbled to keep his balance from my heavy that-was-not-funny stomp with my right back leg.

The wind blew back on us, sending the Red Death Ribbon-streamers (including the new one Gatalas had recently sliced for me) whipping back from my harness. The cute little leather and wood horned skull decorations that dangle from my breast plate clanked against each other with a musical sound.

The new boot pedals, twisted in the wind too, making metal clanking noses when they struck against each other under my belly.

"Those things sure stir up a sound," Gatalas said, cocking his head at them, "I hope they aren't that noisy when I get on board." He stroked my neck and laughed, "Stir-ups. I like that. Kind of a funny way to think of them."

Gatales was dressed back in his camouflaging Steppe clothes, the brown leather short-sleeved kurta and gray winter-weight under-tunic. His dark brown, knee length, long sleeved riding coat topped this gear, along with gloves, a scarf and the traditional peaked, light brown woolen Sarmatian hat with its distinctive, warming earflaps. The braided and beaded ties of the cap were loose, and they floated out on the wind, making it look as if Gatalas was wearing beaded side braids. In actuality, his hair was all pulled back in its typical warrior's plait hanging down his back.

We heard hoof beats and a dog bark coming from our left, and soon I was joined by another Turkmene, a black gelding with a blue metallic sheen to his coat. A sight hound trotted at his heels.

I noticed that the black gelding's saddle also bore the same "stir-up" pedals as I had. Of course Setares would want to experiment with them on his own horse!

"One day closer to death. Rejoice with me!" Setares said from the dark Turkmene's back.

"That shall I do, friend," Gatalas said in the traditional reply, "As I hope you celebrate my impending death."

He held up a questing hand, and Setares rode his gelding up to clasp Gatales' hand in the traditional greeting.

"Then, shall we start?" Setares said, "Sunlight gets shorter each day, and we have a ways to go to overtake Banadaspos."

Gatalas nodded and tightened my girths, I helping by pulling in my breath, "So, you are the one elected, Setares, to come with me for the first part? But aren't you a little-uh- valuable to be riding into danger like this?" He gasped those last words, as he was pulling my girths tight at the same time.

Setares laughed, "I'm a Sarmatian. I'd be crazy not to jump at the chance for death and destruction. Naah. Actually, this is about speed and endurance. I am the smallest and lightest of us smiths. We needed to have someone accompany you who would not hold you back. Ravenwing's fast, and I'm light."

The dog yipped, ears pricked high, plumed tail waving in the air.

"And my hound Kourosh has kept up with both of us on many a hunting expedition. He's won all the endurance dog races I've entered. And he'll pull weight to find us meat and fish for the journey," Setares leaned down from his horse and let the sight hound nuzzle his gloved hand, "Besides, Khory wouldn't miss this for anything in the world. He loves a good journey."

I had a feeling Setares was not only referring to his sight hound with that last sentences.

I flicked my ears at Ravenwing. I did not know the gelding well, other than that he was a priest's horse. ::Better be prepared to keep up, sir. I like to move fast and leave some smoke in my tracks.::

::Bring it on:: he answered back, flicking his ears the same way, ::Hope you can keep up with me, ma'am.::

I decided this could be a lot of fun.

Gatalas placed a foot in one of the "stir-up" pedals and swung onto me. I shifted myself to take his welcome weight on my back. We were a team again!

Lux chirped in caution, getting used to having a Monster seated so close to where he was. He fastened back his tattered ears as Gatalas held a hand towards him, as he would to a nervous horse, inviting the dragon to sniff the hand and see the Sarmatian meant to harm.

Lux instead hissed at Gatalas and ducked back into his basket.

Gatalas sighed and pat me instead.

I encouraged him, ::You 're doing beautifully, Rider. Take heart in that.::

My Rider pat me harder, "You're the best, Horsebutt."

"Let us go and meet our doom!" Setares nudged his gelding into a trot, and I felt Gatalas nudge me as well.

I slid into the long legged ambling trot of my breed, catching up to Setares' horse. From my back I could already feel how Gatalas seemed to sit even more comfortably on me- his weight on my back felt even lighter, better distributed. The "stir-up" pedals were already showing their worth!

Just by the side of the blue-black Turkmene, Kourosh paced us. I have little tolerance for dogs who lose concentration, drop out, and make a riding party have to halt the trip to search for them. But Kouroush was matching we horses! He was not running- far from it. Instead, he was pacing as fast as I was trotting. This dog might be a good companion, indeed!

Children ran by us, calling out farewells to us, wishing us a good journey and happy death. A few held wooden dragons that they made swoop and dive around us Turkmenes.

Setares and Gatalas waved back to the kids, wishing them a long life and happy death in return.

More Firemakers called to us as we rode past their wagons. The priests all were having herbal tea by the fires and shouted blessings and "Keep yourselves warm!" when we trotted by.

And then the wagons were behind us. My backwards vision saw them turn from wagons into children's toys and then, finally, ant hills on the horizon.

Though I love journeying, I always feel a sense of sadness at leaving my home caravan. I think it's like a knot untying- something necessary you have to do in order to start a journey. But even if the knot unties, there still always is a tiny thread that keeps Gatalas and I connected to our people.

I knew, too, this needed to be the last journey before winter set in. Gatalas and I always wintered with the caravan in its warmer winter shelter. Neither merchants nor dragons traveled the steppes in the winter. Strangely enough, the Red Deaths and other gate crashers also did not come over in the winter months. I guess the much colder climate of our time compared to theirs would have killed them right away. So, they saved their fun and games for spring, summer and fall raids.

Setares moved his feet, adjusting to the new pedals. Finally he turned back to us and raised his hand in a fist and then splayed it open, the Sarmatian sign for "Pull it all out!"

::Thought you'd never ask!:: I nickered joyfully, ::Lux, hang on. You'll like this!::

"Yes," Gatalas whispered in joy, settling himself and leaning forward.

He nudged me gently, and I sprang forward in to a gallop, right as Ravenwing did.

Gatalas and Setares whooped and we two horses became the wind incarnate. We raced side by side in the steady, mile-eating gallop that enables Sarmatians to conquer the steppes, a red-gold and blue-black blur.

No, we were not going like race horses- and I admit we don't run as fast as the racing Arabians of the Nej desert, but our speed is in our endurance. We can go fast for very long periods of time, long after a Nej racehorse would drop out from tiredness.

The wind blew back my forelock and lifted the mane from my neck. My winter coat fur, coming in nice and thick, rippled in the wind as well.

By our side ran Kourosh, a fawn and cream blur, the silky "feathers" on his legs and tail wafting behind him. His tongue lolled out, and his face split in a doggy grin. This was easy for him.

Our hooves thundered on the grass and we galloped down slopes and back up again, riding the swells of the grass plains.

The sun cast ribbons through the clouds of this fall morning, streamers of light floating down to the earth.

I heard claws on wicker, and Lux stuck his head out of the his basket again. My vision range was able to show him perfectly, and the joy he felt as the wind of our passage blew back his ear sensors.

::We're flying! And without wings! Yesssssss!:: He stuck out his tongue, which was also blown back from the wind. He just closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

::Told ya you'd like it, kid.::

And on we ran, wind singing along our sides.

We did slow down from time to time, sometimes walking, sometimes jog-trotting, sometimes just halting by water to get a good drink. But the galloping was a big part of our journey, too.

We knew there would be little time for running in the mountains, so we needed to gallop on the steppes to gain time against the slower periods coming up.

A skreeeing sound cut across the plains, suddenly. I heard Kourosh give a warning bark and then a snarl.

::Enemy ahead:: I warned Gatalas, ::Lux, brace yourself.::

I dug my hooves into the ground, bringing myself to a halt.

Lux's claws dug into his basket as he halted his actions, too. He did not hide but stared back at the enemy, nostrils flaring.

::Wha-what is it?::

::Stay quiet, make yourself as small as possible!::

::On it!::

Ravenwing and his rider came up by me, the Turkmene shaking his mane in eagerness.

The dead grass boiled in front of us as something a sickly gray-white in color swept up from it. This was a long, straight, thin creature with ugly segments and an overall wormlike appearance.

The segments ended in a bloated head with cloudy eyes and three openings, one on each side and one on top), each filled with hooklike bristles.

Gatalas could "see" the creature with my eyes and whistled quietly, "Slithereen."

The slithereen was just as blind as Gatalas, but the bristles on its orifices, rippled, pulling in senses. It shifted its headed and began to slither towards us, dead grass rippling over its hide with a soft brushing sound.

I heard the soft snaps as Gatalas slipped open his gorytus, then pulled out the semicircular unstrung bow. His deft hands, eyes in the fingers, strung the bow as I began to side step back from the creature, staying out of striking distance.

A strum, a thrum, a quick gasp, and then the recurve bow had sprung to life again.

And no time too soon as, suddenly, the bulbous head shot out, aiming right for where Ravenwing just had been. The black Turkmene had scattered in one direction, and Kourosh in the other.

Suddenly the gray wormlike alien gatecrasher shot its sinuous body, and then the black Turkmene took a tumble, knocked off his balance by the beast's gray-white body rising, hidden, from the grass.

There was a thud and "Oof!" as Sateres was knocked off his Partner's back.

"So much for the stirring up pedals." Gatalas muttered.

Sateres rolled onto his feet just as a bulbous white head twice his height launched toward him, something sickeningly yellow starting to drip from its three orifices. The youth raised a hand in a pathetic defense.

::oooooh:: Lux breathed, fear tinting his thoughts, but I could feel his body staying still, keeping himself difficult to spot.

::So what'll it be this time, Rider?:: I asked, pacing in a ring around the slithereen. The black Turkmene made a ring on the other side, trying to figure out to reach his Rider, :: The Scythion or the Knot?::

"Start with the Knot." Gatales said calmly, positioning his bow, "Keep in dialogue with Ravenwing. See if he can help. Hopefully that dog will have some sense about this and stay out of the way."

::On it, Rider.:: I thought-sent, ::Stay low, Lux.::

The slithereen slashed at Satares, who leapt back, but his ankle caught on a hummock and brought him flat on his back in a nice dinner presentation.

He stared back at the Slithereen, fear dancing in his blue eyes, but a snarl on his teeth.

Gatalas touched his legs to my side, "Let the games begin!"

And the games began- though things were slightly in the Slithereen's favor.

A/N: - So, Hiccup can claim credit for one of the great inventions of the world in this timeline! The saddle stirrup is considered one of civilization's greatest inventions, yet we don't know when they actually were invented. General ideas are that it was invented in Central Asia around the 4th century AD, so those images of Classical Roman and Greeks using stirrups are not true. There is even evidence stirrups predated this, back into the BCE era in Asia. I got my ideas from a Kushan Indo Empire seal design that oddly follows Hiccup's pedal design on Toothless' harness.

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