Chapter 9

Westward Bound

Well, the next chapter. Sorry for the slow pace. This is the utra busy season in my company. Seems I have met a few more tourism/convention HTTYD fans now, and they are also going through the same busy period. This just is crunch time for all of us. But, more than that, it is the ONE YEAR BIRTHDAY OF HTTYD AS A MOVIE! And that is a wonderful fact. Let's all of us fans keep our love and stories going so we are still pubilshing when the next HTTYD TV series and the 2014 film comes out! We have the power to keep it alive!

This chapter is T rated, but I wanted to do a bit of Heinlein inspired writing and have you think about how non humans view life and love, namely Turkmene horses and dragons. Their views may be alien to ours, but they are also not human, but I hoped you would see that their way has evolved to fit their way of life. I don't mean it to be offensive but just to show how non humans have a very different view of relationships and the role of parents.

And... can you guess all the languages used below for words for "dragons?"

"Listen, son. Most women are damn fools... but they've got more range than we've got. The brave ones are braver, the good ones are better — and the vile ones are viler, for that matter."- R. A. Heinlein, The Puppet Masters

Disclaimer: (In Arabian horse-speak) - I no own dragons I no own Firemakers who are Vikings. Only Dreamworks and Cressida Cowell own them. This too much hard thinking work for me to long-term-think. Better to spend it to eat and to sleep. This is what horses be good at. Pass me the hay and the water. Thank you.

I may be a young and sweet little murderous warhorse, but I've been in enough conflicts to know they don't actually take very long. They just seem like it.

What really does take a long time is the clean-up.

By normal standards, this skirmish had left behind minimal damage. A few sheep had been carried away, and one cluster of stragglers had arrived later, leading a saddled horse. The rider had been ripped completely out of the saddle by the invading dragons. The other merchants had survived, as had all the gear.

It was hoped one of the merchants who did survive would recover from the attack and get used to seeing out of only one eye.

We also had the corpse of the dragon that Gatalas and I had killed with the poisoned arrow, the one who had tried to carry off Lux.

For we Sarmatians, dealing with the bodies of dead dragons was the worst part of our these strange and recent attacks.

The dragon had to be moved from the gorge, and it required several horses to drag the corpse. Of course, those merchant- class prima donna caravan pack, cart and riding horses had to go through all their "I'm soooo scared of anything bigger than a leaf" routine. They can be so annoying with their highly selective ability to spook at things related to any sort of work!

So, Ravenwing and I had to be cart horses now, hooked up to and dragging away the corpse of a dragon. Never mind that we had journeyed fast and hard and helped save the lives of this caravan- and its worthless mundane horses.

At least the oxen, bless their courageous and calm natures, allowed their riders to hitch them up to the dead dragon as well. They gave a helping shoulder, and they really took on much of the weight. It still was annoying as we passed the burly cart horses and packhorses, who grazed nonchalantly and then looked up as we trudged past.

They would then roll their eyes and snort loudly in fear.

::I'm not getting near that dead dragon. It'll eat me!:: I heard one say.

::And there we go, my darling mare! Ravenwing thought snidely to me, ::Equine logic at its best! ::

The mercenaries' horses might have lent a hand, being more used to war and action, but their riders refused to help. They were boycotting in protest.

Apparently, dragon body parts are a hot item for Firemakers. Teeth, claws, scales and skulls are sold for decorations. Internal organs are dried and ground up, sold as potions for giving Firemakers better health and (but, more likely, indigestion).

Setarah had refused to let them carve up the dead dragon. To a Sarmatian, desecrating a dead dragon is a sacrilege. We only use their shed scales because they let us collect them. Everyone old enough to breathe knows dragons are tied in with Marha, and to carve one up for body parts is to destroy a being who belongs to the divine.

Mercenaries are not overly fond of priests as it is , even if they are handy blacksmith-priests. Setarah's stance about the dragon did not make them change their dislike in any way.

Oh, the irony! Setarah's efforts helped save the caravan's life, but because she would not let the mercs get a little wealthier, it gave them one more reason to hate religious figures. And duck out of helping out for the good of the caravan.

It was amazing watching her turn into a shouting spitfire, considering some of those mercs could have bent her in half for breakfast. But she held her ground. She stuck her chin up, fire in her eyes, and kept the Draco head strategically held in front of her flat chest.

It was her act of saving the caravan that kept the mercs from overruling her- or even taking her down a few pegs with some well-placed blows to the jaw. Actually, it was not only because she saved the caravan, but because she had used "magic" to do just that.

You don't mess with someone who can make dragons turn back with a twist of a hand holding a strange golden dragon head talisman in "his" other hand.

So, all of them but one punctured the air with various curse words in various languages and walked away to grouse about the evils of the priesthood.

And they refused to help with the hauling.

Now Gatalas gritted his teeth and chanted out our mantra about gratitude being an invisible emotion as we Turkmenes and oxen pulled the dead dragon's corpse out of the gorge's mouth, hauling it up the rocky rims and then onto the plain.

The oxen took it in stride, shouldering the heavier burden, and I was grateful for that. We Turkmenes were made for speed, not for pulling burdens. The horse collar that had been lent to me dug into my neck and shoulders. The merchant who had lent it to us mentioned to Gatalas, ironically, that these collars were an invention of the River Rats, who often sold them to European merchants and farmers.

Must explain why it was so uncomfortable.

The one merc who did not protest did ride with us now, trotting ahead of us to seek a good grave site. He was a Syrian and found selling dragon body parts beneath his personal code of conduct and dignity when his sword brought him enough income. He could not help with the pulling because his horse was simply too small and finely built to pull heavy weights. She was one of the swift and disgustingly beautiful desert horses that originated in the Nej Peninsula.

These Arabians, as they are called, thrive in arid lands. They are used as war and hunting steeds, like we Turkmenes, and they are famous for their stamina and loyalty to their riders. However, their origin lands are sandier than the Turanian steppes where my tribe originated, so their body type looks quite different from ours.

We both are hardy critters, swift-footed with finely-shaped heads. The similarities end there. We Turkmenes are tall and skinny with long legs and long spines. We have small iron-hard hooves and flat sides, long ears and sparse manes and tails. (If we even are born with a mane in the first place.) Overall, we're rangy and hardy.

Arabians are smaller with shorter legs, softly rounded bodies and largish, perfectly-round hooves. They have pert little ears and beautiful, flowing manes and tails, the latter sometimes so long they brush the ground. Their necks curve in a regal arch, and their muzzles are so dainty and perfect they could fit into a tea bowl. Their large, shadowed eyes would make a gazelle feel ugly.

If I would compare us to dragons, the Arabians would be the Magnesium Breathers (Deadly Nadders). We would be the Whispering Deaths.

Guess who won the Firemaker- judged beauty contest among our two equine tribes?

This Arabian was a silvery-white color peppered with patches of dappled gray on her shoulders and flanks. Dust seemed to just slide off her hide as she danced ahead of us, pristine and dainty, while Ravenwing and I had long lost our Turkmene glow in the sweat-matted dust that mantled us.

I admit I felt every inch the snarking fishbone around her. It didn't help that the other caravan horses treated her like she was visiting royalty and sighed after her beauty. I heard disparaging comments about chicken bones and toasting racks tossed in Ravenwing's and my direction. The Arabian, however, got such critical observations as "queenly," "gazelle-like," "the Sky Lady in her filly form," and "the wind come down to earth."

It was just so unfair, just so...

::Jealousy will get you nowhere:: Ravenwing chided me gently me as I watched this manifestation of perfection trotting ahead of us. Ravenwing was trying to hold back laughter even while grunting with pulling the load, ::You have... hrrrhh... to admit she is an exquisite creature. I've ... hrrrh... seen a fair amount of... Nej tribe members before. They are ... hrrrrhh all that beautiful. Be a ... hrrrrhhh... big girl, now, and ... hrrrhhh deal with it. ::

::Hrrrh. Would you focus on pulling instead of teasing? Or ... hrrrnh... watching ...her. It's... hrrrnh... Lady, but this is heavy...! :: I gritted my teeth as one of the oxen slipped a bit, some of the load shifting onto my shoulders until the bovine recovered his balance, ::Besides! Why are you... hrrrhh... w-watching? You're a... gelding... for ...hrrrrh ... Hrani's sake!::

Ravenwing snorted with the patient humor of those who are older and have dirtier minds, ::Nothing wrong with art appreciation, ma'am. Hrnnhhh! Ahh, we're here! Finally!::

We all sighed in relief as little Miss Perfect nanced to a halt, her rider holding a hand up. The goateed, leather-skinned Syrian slid off and dropped the mare's reins, knowing she was trained enough to not run away. And she did wait, nostrils flaring, not pleased to be so close to a dead dragon.

Well, aren't you special? I thought uncharitably. My training had taken weeks to overcome the horsy "run away from everything that moves" fear instinct out of me. I forget, sometimes, that mundane horses don't get trained in this very well, for the most part.

At least Miss Perfect's owner seemed to have taught her some manners.

The Syrian turned his head and looked the other way, keeping a watch over possible intruders.

I sighed in relief as Gatalas and Setareh unclasped the chains binding us to the dragon so Ravenwing, the oxen, and I could be freed. Trust me, much as I love my neck bands and the Red Death ribbon and skull baubles, harnesses are just not that fun.

Setarah had set a small, leathery bundle she was carrying on the ground before she moved to unharness us. Now, as Gatalas pulled the annoying RIver Rat horse collars from Ravenwing and I, Setareh knelt by the dead dragon.

Setareh's bundle grew red-flecked amber eyes, unfolded its wings and turned into Lux. He slunk over to the dead dragon with a slow wumping motion, his nose twitching as he smelled the air. He then flicked out a red, forked tongue, tasting the scents around the dead beast.

"Go ahead, kitten," Setareh said gently, "No one will stop you. But don't touch him. The scythion poison on the arrows could hurt you."

I translated, and Lux hunched into himself for a moment. He trilled a little note, as if steeling himself, and then moved onwards, investigating this strange beast in front of him.

Lux's eyes were dilated as he limped around the dragon's corpse, taking in the close up sight of one of his distant relatives. He was very quiet, and I could understand that. This was a lot to take in. Here was his first dragon, the first dragon to ever touch him... and that same dragon had been out to hurt Lux.

The kitten sighed sadly as he paced the body, flicking a tongue out to "taste" the air around the striped scales, tentacles and horns of the creature.

::What kind of Person is it?:: I heard his thought-voice directed at both me and Ravenwing, ::Have you seen this tribe before?::

::Many times:: Ravenwing answered, ::This is a Naptha Breather, a smaller cousin to those great Warlords of dragons- the great Self Burners::

::What some Firemakers know as the 'Monstrous Nightmare, :: I clarified, ::Many of them think the Naptha Burners are baby Nightmares, but they really are a smaller version of the better known Nightmare. They may be smaller, but they are deadly in their own right since they can slip into places the others cannot. That's why it was a Naptha Person and a Magnesium Person who were the only dragons who could get into the gorge.::

Ravenwing whuffled his nostrils, ::They cross the Steppes sometimes, and they let our scout riders- the ones like Eyeful's Firemaker- guide them.::

Lux had halted now in front of the magnificent, horn-crowned head. He sat back on his hindquarters and tail and raised his good front paw up, as if longing to touch the brow of the dragon in front of him.

::My first dragon. I wish he and I could have met as friends. It seems so... sad. I wanted him to like me.:: Lux tilted his head, taking in we Turkmenes with heavy eyes, ::He said some scary things, things about Her and They. And I was not initiated, so I was not a dragon, just food.::

Interesting concepts, indeed. Especially about the initiation. Did dragons have similar coming- of-age ceremonies as we Turkmenes have? Like the Sarmatian Firemakers have?

I was distracted by chanting and a Firemaker song. I bent my gaze back to the dead Naptha Breather. Setareh was singing quietly to the dragon in a rich, beautiful, husky voice. The song was about fire that had been quenched before its time, an apology to Marha for the dragon's death. The dragon was fire from Marha, and it was time to return the dragon back to its source. Seterah wished the dragon well on his journey.

Ravenwing gestured his dark head at Lux, motioning the dragon to come back from the corpse and join us three. Lux dropped back to all fours and limped back to stand by we Turkmenes and Gatalas.

Setareh continued her song-prayer. This time there were no flowery, pretty references to skulls or graves or worms or other fripperies. This was pure, gritty and simple prayer, a eulogy to a dragon who had died a sad death by Sarmatian hands and hooves. The song-prayer ended with a wish for a better world in the great beyond for that magnificent, wounded creature, a hope he would find the peace he did not have here on this plane.

Behind her, Gatalas stood, head lowered in respect to the dead dragon. We Turkmenes lowered ours, too. Lux glanced at Ravenwing and then, solemnly, lowered his wolf-like head, too.

"Fly to Marha with our hopes and blessings. Be happy in the one-legged one's embrace." Setareh said softly.

"Fly... NOW!" she shouted.

And the dragon's body burst into fire.

We all leapt back at once, but we were far enough away to be safe. Setareh was close to the corpse, but she sprang back with a gazelle-like leap and joined us.

Her slender hands were curled around one of the clever little Fire-starter stick-devices our FIremakers have been using since we crossed over into this timeline, the kind that throw sparks when activated. I would guess the dragon's habit of coating itself with its saliva provided the fuel for the fire.

The Syrian turned back to watch, eyes widened. To him it must have seemed Setareh made fire jump from her bare hands.

His horse was trembling but stood her ground.

We watched a bit longer before turning back for the gorge. Fire is sacred to our Firemakers, and they consider it a sacrilege to burn dead corpses- fire is pure, and burning an earthly body desecrates the fire and insults Marha, the one legged dragon rider who mastered fire.

It's different for dragons. They are creatures of fire. Then we are obligated to burn their bodies and send them back to Marha where they can rest in peace.

The Syrian mounted his Arabian, and the two took the lead. Gatalas and Setarah would follow, each leading one of the great oxen. Of course, they knew we Turkmenes would follow our Riders. We don't need to wear straps around our head and metal bars in our mouths to follow our Riders.

Though I did have to admit the Arabian's bridle had some lovely decorations on it, tassels and tiny sword/moon pendants, and a leather-strapped fly guard over the brow band to protect her eyes from biting gnats. I have one of those, as well, for the swampy spring months, but hers was prettier.

I gritted my teeth and pretended it did not bother me.

I noticed that Lux did not scamper back into the basket on my harness. Instead he crouched by Ravenwing's legs. The middle-aged Turkmene whickered in laughter and knelt down so Lux could scramble up onto his shoulders. He perched on the Turkmene's neck harness/hand grip, stretching his wings as far as they could go.

Ravenwing started walking, then, by his Rider, Lux perched on his shoulders. The kitten began to flex his wings, pulling them in various directions.

I fell in by Gatalas, who placed his hand on my neck, scratching it in affection while also using his hand to keep contact with my eyesight.

"Seems like Lux has abandoned us," Gatalas said with a soft laugh.

::No skin off my teeth,:: I answered, ::I think he's impressed with Ravenwing, and he should be. He may be a foul mouthed ole cuss, but Ravenwing is brave and kind and honest. He's a bit irreverent, but he's not a bad role model for our kitten in the things that matter. Just be prepared for a few naughty words to come floating out of Lux's thoughts::

"Nothing we haven't heard before."

The Arabian watched watched as Lux attacked the vicious bowl of stew, purring and growling as he did.

She flared her nostrils in disgust and turned her head away in an

"I'm too good to be watching this" gesture.

::Impressive, isn't it, desert doll?:: Ravenwing asked her with teasing affection.

She flatted her ears and snapped at him, even though she was tethered some distance from us. She had been unsaddled, looking even smaller and daintier than ever. She snorted and started eating her dried alfalfa.

::You have a way with mares,:: I told Ravenwing as we munched our hay. I was actually feeling pretty content. We'd been brushed clean of mud and sweat, and the night would be warm enough to not need the blanket. We'd had fresh, clean river water to drink and this lovely, well-cured hay.

This was a gift from some Khazarian traders. It was nice because we had thought we'd be eating Power Feed this evening. Overall, the merchants were much more appreciative than their horses. Horses, riders, hound and dragon had all been fed.

Gatalas and Setareh truly were grateful. We'd not been able to hunt today, and the Firemakers preferred not to dip into the dried rations this early in the journey.

We'd had a slow stream of merchants wander over to take a gander at Lux. To his credit, the little dragon took it in stride. It helped that Kourosh had planted himself by Lux and stared intently at any Firemaker coming too close to the kitten. Those who did were treated with a threatening growl.

There was no need to hide Lux since he had been in plain sight during the attack. In fact, the presence of a young dragon helped lend even more mystique to the Sarmatian Firemakers. They could slay a fierce dragon with two shots of a small bow. They could turn back invading dragons with magic. And they were wardens to an injured baby dragon.

Words came out in hushed tones as merchants gazed at Lux: dargon, draco, drache, thrakos, dracul, tannym, arach, al taneen, smok, dragão, joka...

Since these mysterious strangers from the eastern steppes had power over a dragon, they could observe the creature. They whispered in tones that were fearful at first, but then became admiring.

Both Gatalas and Setareh found that a good thing, mentioning this to each other.

I wonder if they realized how strange the merchants found them. None of the merchants would know who the Sarmatians actually were. In this timeline, apparently, our people had died out from a plague. Even in our native timeline we lived in the time of the Broomhead Empire, almost a thousand years before this time period of wandering merchants and raiding River Rats. Before we had made the Crossing, the Broomhead "priests" who had opened the temporal gates had told our Firemaker priests that in the 11th century of our own future, Sarmatians had faded away, blending into other peoples. Most of them would inhabit a place roughly similar to where Nowheresville was located. The land would be called the You-Crane. One tribe of Sarmatians would survive longer than the rest, the golden haired Halani, who would settle in the northern Caucasus mountains. The region where we had wandered would eventually be home to nomadic tribes known as the Mahd-yar, or Hungarians.

I did hear the words "scythian," and those good Firemakers did predate Sarmatians, so maybe there were some legends about them in this time line.

::Hey, Horsebutt:: Gatalas thought-sent to me, ::D'ya know I've already had three offers for you?::

::Only three?:: I sniffed , ::Well, I hope they were high priced::

::You are worthless, my dear nag, because no price would be high enough.:: Gatalas laughed, ::You're stuck with me, I am afraid.::

::Such is life. I'll survive, I guess.::

See, Miss Perfect? I may not be as purty as you, but Firemakers seem to think I am valuable.

Ravenwing's thought voice was deep and rich with laughter, ::You're cute when you're jealous, Eyeful.::

::Permission to Mindlink:: The sultry, feminine voice rubbed against my brain.

::Granted:: both Ravenwing and I thought at the same time.

The Arabian was staring at us intently, ::You are strange to me. Horses and yet not horses. I no see your kind before.::

::We're of the Turkmene tribe:: Ravenwing told her, ::You may have seen some of our people in the Great Pris- I mean Bizz- I mean Byzuh- I mean the Greek speaking lands. They'd call us Parthians or Nisseans.::

::I travel much there. I no see horse like you. But I see much Firemaker pictures and clay figures from there. Horses there look like bit like you. In my home village, there famous painted statue of great Greek warrior who rode black horse. Horse looks like you, black one.::

::Ah, the Great Makadonian, Alexander. He rode a Turkmene stallion named Bucephalos. He was an ancestor of mine.::

::Liar:: I whispered to Ravenwing ::Every Sarmatian foal knows Bucephalos was not pure Turkmene. He'd never have accepted wearing a bit and bridle. He was of the Thessalonian- tribe they have Turkmene ancestry. DISTANT Turkmene ancestry::

::Just trying to impress the little lady with our noble heritage. Goodness knows, most of these sorry excuses for horses seem to think we're ugly- any bit of useful tale telling helps. Besides, how do you know? Bucephalos was quite the wandering stud- he couldn't be anything else with his rider being so eager to conquer the world. You have to admit many mares are impressed by a capable war stallion, ::Ravenwing sighed in mockery of a silly smitten filly, ::There's something alluring about a male in a war uniform. Anyway, I do think I look very much like he did. There could be a bit of the great one's blood in me. ::

::Well, there's something odd in you, that's for certain! And I would not be attracted to a non Turkmene. Most of us mares are not. I don't see why our ancestresses would be any different::

The Arabian interrupted our teasing/bickering, ::There is an extra thing 'on-with-in' you two. Makes you much strange. I no afraid of you, but I no sure of you. No sure how to trust you. Your thought speech so twisty and complicated, slinky-twisty-curly snake. Not simple and plain like mine. Thoughtspeech from you too much like how Firemakers talk. No good for horse to think like Firemaker does. ::

::Well, desert lady, we are Sarmatian Turkmenes, so we're quite unusual. Both we and our Firemakers have a very, very old partnership, one that almost goes back to when all horse-kind crossed the Earth Bridge to wander in the Turanian flats:: Ravenwing took another mouthful of hay, ::We've come to resemble our Riders over time in our way of thinking, most definitely. And, there is something extra in us that makes us different. It would take a lot of explaining, though.::

::Then, don't. I no like long descriptions. I no like to spend much time to think. Time on this world limited. Better to spend it to eat good food. Sleep good sleep. Carry a good rider. And run like the wind:: she snorted cheerfully, :: We Nej Tribe close to our riders, too. I come from good line of Bedu war horses. My grandmother much great warrior. So great her rider have her sleep in his family's tent so she be warm and dry at night She a true part of his family! ::

The mare watched us again for a moment. Behind us we could hear singing coming from the Khazari traders' tents. Like most of the Khazars, they followed the faith of the Hebrews, and it sounded like they were singing a prayer. It was a mournful, looping melody, and it was quite beautiful.

The Arabian continued, ::But I do see amazing animals- more horse-not horses. Even more not-horse than you two. I no see horses-nothorses well sure since they so far from me. But I see they long, thin bodies. Like you. But they seem part dragon, part horse.::

I whickered in surprise. That was our unit in their armor! ::When did you see them, Arabian? Where?:: It would do no good asking her how many. Most mundane horses cannot count past four.

::Yesterday. My rider and leave the caravan and track hare for dinner. See, then, dragon-horses in distance. They move sundown ward. To the mountains. They seem scattery, running. Something chase them maybe? Many attacking dragons in this area. But I see nothing. So why run?::

In addition to her thought speech, she also had a good image of grasslands rising gradually into forested mountains and a band of funny creatures who looked like scaly horses running like a terrified, stampeding herd, humans clinging to them like burrs. Her own perceptions made the Turkmenes of our unit quite exaggerated, with long, forked tongues and spiky reptilian tails and claws.

I memorized it to show it to my Rider later. It seemed a bit odd me. From what I understood, the portal would not have been in the mountains but skirting them.

::I know they weren't galloping, but shouldn't the dragon unit have been over the portal by now?::

Ravenwing was working it through his mind, as well, ::Probably ran into some dragons. They'd be facing them every night if they were following the right trail. They may have seemed like they were panicking, but I don't think so. One of the units was moving away from the path, probably doing the decoy maneuver, the old parting shot. It is, after all, our Firemaker's specialty. ::

I tried to tell myself that. There was some sense in me that things seemed a bit off.

Rrrrraoooorgghhh!

I roared in joy, my proud cry rumbling over the grasslands, echoing for long moments afterward.

At least that's what happened in my mind. The actual raspy hiss was not so dramatic, but the thoughts behind it were.

We were flying across the plain, the earth streaking beneath Ravenwing's hooves as a golden-brown blur. Sometimes blades of yellowed grass and clumps of earth flew up to smack against my basket.

One of them smacked my muzzle, scattering clouds dirt around my muzzle. I licked soil off my face, the dirt tasting strange but nice, too. I thought maybe this is how life tastes.

I was really coming to love these moments of flying on a Turkmene, the wind tickling me and making me feel so alive! Ahead of me ran Eyeful, striped legs flashing and hooves thudding on the ground. I think my heart was making the same thudding sounds in my chest!

Yesterday had been uncomfortable when Eyeful had galloped, but now my body was getting used to it, responding automatically to the motions so that I no longer was being jostled in the basket. It was not that Ravenwing was any smoother at galloping than Eyeful- I just was getting better at being on a horse.

My left leg seemed even better than yesterday, flexing more, aching less. I had actually wanted to ride Ravenwing perched on his neck harness, as we had done yesterday during the attack. The black Turkmene refused, letting me know we would be going very fast today to get across these plains. My legs were still getting used to clinging to a horse, and I didn't want to push my luck since my left leg was not working, and my wings were still strained. If I wanted him to carry me, then I had to agree to ride in the basket during the fastest gallops.

I did want to ride with the Turkmene and his crazy man-woman Rider, so I agreed with it. I can't say why I liked the black horse. He just seemed so interesting and brave and oh-so-cool and collected.

Oh, and a bit naughty, too. Maybe that was it. He could say the most crazy and even naughty things and yet make it seem so utterly classy and dignified.

The skies above were grey, deep with clouds, and I could scent water in them. I hoped it would not rain. It was cold outside and I could not roar well enough to make my fire come out- whatever kind of fire I was supposed to breathe. Then, again, the rain might keep the dragons from attacking us tonight as we journeyed closer.

And, who knows, we might even meet up with the other Monster/Firemakers to give them the Draco head! Eyeful had found it a bit odd we might catch them up so soon, but then the mission would be over soon, and then maybe we could meet some nice dragons who would show me how to fly and breathe fire.

So on we galloped, the hooves of the Turkmenes our only conversation. Of course, we did not run all day. We actually stopped several times, usually near a creek or lake. Sometimes we would use the chance to mark our territory- well, the Firemakers, Kourosh and I, anyway. I found the whole habit quite interesting. Why would we mark territory in a place we would only be in a few minutes? Marking territory means you should be willing to stay and defend it.

But, then, Monster/Firemakers are odd.

Of course, Kourosh was a big reason for us to rest as well. He was able to keep up with us pretty well, but he eventually would drop behind, so we would halt for him to catch up.

Sometimes we did not gallop but slowed to that lovely, fluid up-and-down traht gait. As Ravenwing explained, his people can run fast and far, but they actually can get further in a day if they vary their pace.

::It's like you dragons, kid. You blast out all your fire in one or two displays of power, you might impress the dragon babes, but you aren't gonna last in a fight very long. You have to conserve your fire, and we Turkmenes have to conserve our speed.::

It was during these slower lulls that I was allowed to come out and perch on the neck harness, my body framed on each side by the arms of Ravenwing's Rider. I would look up to see her face and, once when she looked down at me, she split her lips in the friendly smile these Monster/Firemakers give.

I tried to give her the same smile back, and she laughed softly, then made her eyes cross towards each other so she looked goofy, and she stuck out her tongue.

I had no idea how my eyes could do that, but I stuck out my tongue and gave a barking yip.

Below us, Kouroush made the exact same noise and shook his head, flapping his long, silky ears.

Both the Firemaker and I laughed for quite a while, each in our own ways.

::Primitive children:: Ravenwing snorted, ::So easily entertained. You probably get hours of pleasure out of watching the grass grow. Let me teach you some useful skills- like how to get the ladies to notice you.::

::Ladies? You mean dragonesses?::

::I wasn't referring to female turtles. Of course, dragonesses!::

::Yuck. Why would I want some- dragoness to notice me? They're disgusting!:: Actually, don't ask me how I know this, but this wisdom just popped up in my mind- another suppressed memory. Other dragon kittens wrestling with me, male kittens who looked like me, and we would insult each other by calling ourselves dragonesses and threatening each other with the horrible fate of having a dragoness... (gasp)... lick us!

::Oh, you think that now, but y'see, that'll change as you get older. And, anyway, since dragonesses are the ones who usually are the leaders, it's always good to get them on your good side. So that means impressing them.:: Ravenwing snorted as some churned up grass went up a nostril, ::Of course, you'll find it's important to be able to discuss dragonesses when you meet with other dragon males. It's a major form of entertainment for dragon males. And there's a whole language that's developed for that. And I will be the one to teach you, my grasshopper.::

::You, Ravenwing? But you're a... Turkmene...!::

::...Who happens to have a forge priest as a Rider. Your kind often has met with Sarmatian priests, and my Rider is no exception. Plus, she and I do a lot of traveling with our work, so we've encountered a few dragons that we help guide along the way. Why do you think you're so relaxed around her? I don't think you'd allow another Firemaker to be sitting so close to you right now. She's learned how to carry herself around a dragon- the thoughts and mannerisms and ways that let your People know we are friends.::

I agreed to that, though it had not occurred to me. I had actually hissed at Eyeful's Rider again this morning when he had tried to check my injured left front leg. And I snarled at any of the merchants who reached a hand out to me. But the priest was something different.

::So, I've heard a few males of your kind dish out the goods on the fairer sex of the fiery People. Besides, guys are guys are guys are guys. We pretty much all discuss the females of our own kind, it's not that different between species.::

::All right, then, great and mighty teacher, enlighten me with your great wisdom!:: I trilled, ::Just don't discuss disgusting dirty stuff like love licks and rubbing muzzles and other dragonessy mushy stuff.::

So, during these traht interludes, I did, indeed learn some interesting terms. There are useful terms to discuss when around other dragon guys: gams, broad, check out the scales on that babe, gazongas (those are ear sensors, apparently), assets, attributes, well-turned legs, and her sexy curves (apparently the shape of the wings is a way to measure draconic beauty) . My favorite one is just to look at the other dragons and purr with a "RRRRRowwrrr" sound.

There are also terms you can say to a dragoness if you like her and you think she might be "lighting up" for you as well. Words like toots (the blowing sound an attracted female dragon makes out of her nose) , hot stuff, kitten face, cutie claws and sweet plates. Said dragoness will usually blast a fire jet at you, but it actually means she is thrilled by it, not angry. Apparently the trick is to say those names not with an insult but with teasing fondness. A few well placed gifts of freshly killed prey or precious pebbles also get the message across.

If the dragoness ignores you rather than flaming you, then that means you failed.

Well, it was good to know, but thank the, the - what were they- the Sky Lady, Night Lady and Creator Father that I was still too young to worry about this yet.

::Actually, most of it is pretty much friendly flirting and teasing. And the dragonesses often like to tease the drakes right back. They have their own terms for the guys, like big drake and ash snoot. Dragons have mating seasons, just like we Turkmenes, do. They usually hold their convocations to coincide with mating season. But it never hurts to let a broad know you are impressed by her. ::

We followed Eyeful, who was now ambling through a strand of trees with white and black trunks, her hooves crunching through a layer of golden, dried leaves.

::So, I bet you're good at it.:: I told Ravenwing, who gave a deep thought chuckle., ::You know, during mating season and all.::

::Oh, I am the master, and I can make a red Turkmene mare blush even redder with flattery. And, when we are not on duty many of the war mares mares like flocking near me and bring me gifts of grass and flowers and groom me. But I'm a gelding. Mating season's for the stallions. And they're welcome to it. All that beating up and biting and kicking and broken bones and banishment just so one lucky stallion gets to breed with all the mares. And the rest of us "lucky" dudes gets to spend another year, banished, wandering alone on the steppes, cold and hungry and pursued by predators. Not for me. No how. No way.::

::So, you mean there are two kinds of male horses? Stallions and geldings?::

::Nope. Only one kind. Just one participates in the mating brutal fighting- oh, sorry, I meant mating season. And the other kind, well, doesn't. You're a smart kitten. You can figure it out.::

It didn't take me too long. ::That's disgusting! Cruelty! I knew they were Monsters! Knew it!::

::It was my choice, kid. Every male Turkmene has the choice. Most horses don't. Our Firemakers let us decide.::

::Someone takes away- uh- your- erm- and you- you LET them? How?:: I think, to my embarrassment, I actually wailed.

Ravenwing turned, angling around a tree with an oddly shaped trunk, ::See, you're thinking this like a dragon, not a horse. We horses are herd animals and, for us, we view the Good of the Herd over the good of the individual. That's how we have survived: as a herd. The steppes are not a walk in the summer forest. Life there is good, and the steppes are very beautiful, but they are also shadowed by death. And there are so many ways a horse can die: starvation, drought, predators, broken legs, fire, storms, floods, sickness. Only the strong survive, and only the best stallion breeds so the next generation will be strong. The best stallion is not only the strongest, he also has the strongest mental control::

::What do you mean?:: I relaxed a bit, but I was still not sure I liked this way horses lived.

::In the wild and on the steppes, our main form of defense is to outrun our enemies. You've seen there ain't many places to hide unless you are a horse the size of a grass blade. But we also are not bonded with FIremakers, so we panic easily. It's only those of us who choose to bond with Firemakers who go through Training to learn to suppress our flight instinct. The rest of us Turkmenes- those who remain wild- they will panic as much as the next horse. And they can scatter like crazy. The lead mare and the herd stallion have to be able to keep the herd together, mentally keep them calm enough to run as a unit. That takes some serious thought speaking abilities.

:: And most of us Turkmenes, sadly, don't have that kind of power. So only one stallion and one lead mare live in each herd. In all wild horse herds, as soon as colts grow old enough, the stallion chases them out of the herd. If a colt is strong enough, he can challenge the stallion, but he most likely won't win.::

::What happens to the colts?:: I asked, gripping my claws into the neck harness.

::They are on their own to survive. They need to be, to grow tough and maybe return to take on the herd stallion. Sometimes they form 'bachelor herds' to survive, but many just live on their own as outcasts. They try to steal mares from the herds, even doing raids. Sometimes it works and they become the stallion of their own herd- if they have the mental and physical strength to lead a herd. Most of us don't though.::

::Do they survive? And what about the fillies? Are they thrown out, too?:: I ducked my head as a shower of golden leaves came down onto my head, shaken loose when Ravenwind had brushed against a tree trunk.

::Well, nothing survives, in the long term. And horses in the wild live free lives, but it's rare to grow to an old age on the steppes. A bachelor stallion lives a shorter life than a herd mare because he is fending for himself. Even the bachelor herds are rather loosely knit. As for the mares, not they stay in the herd, but some aspire to be a lead mare, and they may willingly join a young bachelor trying to create a new herd. And sometimes it works and there is a new herd on the steppes. That is good, because new blood is important to keep our kind going.

Ravenwing's thought voice went a bit cold now, ::And, to be honest, the reign of a herd stallion is not a long one, certainly not for mundane stallions. During mating seasons, young bachelors will challenge him for the mares, and there will be a brutal fight. Often may brutal fights. The herd stallion has the advantage of wiliness and experience, but there comes a day when he is defeated in battle, and the herd has a new leader.::

::Is he killed?:: I gasped, remembering Deathblood, the noble herd stallion who had raced with us, the creature whose coat matched that of dried blood.

::Rarely, but he may later die of his injuries. If bones are broken in a fight, the injured horse rarely survives it in the wild. Especially broken legs. But he will be driven out of the herd and wander his last days alone, unless he finds some bachelors to join. Some loyal mares may try to come with him, but most know it is time for a new leader. They stay for the Good of the Herd.

::Now, this part is hard, kid, but it happens among dragons, too, so just listen. When the new leader takes over, he kills all the foals.::

I could not suppress a squeak-growl of anger, ::That's not fair!::

::It's life on the steppes, sadly. A new leader wants a new start. Children of his former rival are too dangerous to have around and are often challenging him. Lions do this to a defeated rival's cubs, as do Self Burners and Sand spitters. Only, for them, it's the dragonesses who destroy the eggs of the former queen::

::So, then, you wound up having a choice between not having foals and...?::

A snort of humor, ::... and not having foals. I would have never had foals, anyway. Only the stallion breeds with the herd. The rest of us are effectively out of the plan. But we Turkmenes who are allied with Firemakers approach it differently. We start in the herd, running as wild as the rest of them. And , when we are old enough, the stallion chases us colts out of the herd. It's then we have a choice. Our dams have told us about it, so we've had our lives to consider it. We can remain in the wild and make a go of it on the plains. We'll have our freedom and maybe start a herd of our own. We, incidentally, have three herds that follow our caravan, so it is possible- just not likely. But we'll also be facing dangers without a herd.

::And, even worse, being smarter than other horses, we start to turn more savage without the company of others. We become almost mad, sometimes, roaming like outlaws until we die- which comes sooner than later, usually. Freedom, yes, but at a great price. Horses were not meant to be alone. We need the connection to a herd... or to a Rider.::

I snorted, sounding almost like Ravenwing, ::Seems like a rather bad choice.::

::It's how we have survived, kiddo. It's the Herd that matters, not one bachelor stallion. And we do have a choice, so that's a factor. Most horses do not. If we join the Firemakers, choose to bond with one, then we do give up our freedom and our chance to become a herd stallion- small as it might be. But we gain a true friend who cares for us, who protects and loves us as a bond brother or sister- as we protect and love them. And there are mamy mares who are good friends of mine- I'd never have their admiration and love as a bachelor- or even as a herd stallion- who must set himself apart as the highest ranking horse. I am fed well and kept warm in the winter and dry from the rain. Best of all, I still am free! Sarmatians are wanderers, they roam the lands, just as a horse herd does, no fence or tether will keep us in one place. I just happen to share my wanderings with the best forge priest ever.::

A few moments of silence except for thudding hooves, ::I think I got back far more than I gave up, kitten.::

I thought about this. In many ways, Ravenwing was like the black dragon on the dreampaths and his skinny, speckled Firemaker. Both of them had allied themselves with FIremakers willingly, even though they had lost their freedom to roam freely. They both felt they got something better back from it.

::I know what you'll ask next, so I'll just tell you, :: humor colored Ravenwing's voice as he splashed across a stream, water droplets beading across my hide as he did, ::I ran with a another bachelor for several years, growing from a yearling into a powerful young colt. It was fun at first, but then came the winters, and life was hard trying get by. And I felt so lonely. My fellow bachelor and I got along, but we still were stallions and so constantly rivals with each other when we were not in any danger.

::When the Firemakers came to the steppes to bring in the young horses for the Training, they just rode up to my companion and I and stopped a long distance away. They let us decide whether or not to come up to them. Then then turned around and rode back. I knew that those of us who chose to bond would trot after them and then up in front of them, letting them come behind us and herd us to the encampment. The other bachelor took them in, muttered something about slavery, and fled, choosing to be free. You, of course, know my choice.

::And no, the process was not cruel. My Firemakers have gained great knowledge from the visiting priests/teachers since the Crossing, and one of those things was a way to change me inside so I was not capable of siring foals. It was done with a needle prick in my neck and then another needle prick and then that was it. There were physical changes that started to happen after that, but nothing was cut or removed from me. For all practical purposes, I look like a stallion, but my neck and shoulders are not as heavy as a stallion's would be. Still, I am stronger than a mundane gelding would be since I was allowed to roam the plains mature into my adult strength before the process. And I am stronger than Turkemene mares- that's why we can do many battle moves they cannot do- more power in the shoulders and flanks.::

The forest opened out into a dry grass swale that started to climb upwards toward a flat surface.

I began to smell something smoky in the air. Maybe we were coming up to Firemaker cooking fires.

::I know the horses the River Rat Monsters had were very cruel:: I said, after a moment of sniffing the air, ::They used to try to bite me and stomp on me- and they fought with each other all the time, too. They had to be chained in place when they were not being ridden or they'd try to kill each other. They were stallions::

::That's very true of stallions. They are aggressive by nature. They have to be to survive, but many do not have the wisdom to control their strength, so they let their anger over take them.:: Ravenwing began to climb the slope, slowing to a walk, ::A wise stallion is a creature to admire, like our Deathblood. I have all respect for him. But a foolish stallion is a brute and a bully. Your stallions were also abused, so they were even angrier than the typical horse. Some mundane stallions have good owners who keep them in control without cruelty, and can be very good horses. But it was their FIremakers who made them good. Lean forward, kittykins. It helps me to climb a bit easier. ::

I complied ::Did you ever see the other colt again? The one who chose to remain a wild stallion?::

::Yes. Once I saw him roaming alone in the winter, following the caravan tracks for hopes of getting some leftover grain. His ribs were stuck up through his coat, and he had many scars. It had been a hard winter. But the look in his eyes was of mad pride, still taking joy in his freedom. He did survive the winter. I saw him again a half year later during one of my Rider's journeyman errands. Or, what the steppe wolves had left of the stallion. He had a distinct blaze on his face, so I knew it was he.::

::What a pity.::

::It was his choice. He wanted the freedom of the steppes, and I like to think he was happy with it.::

The smell of smoke was getting stronger and stronger now, and I found myself beginning to sneeze from it. It was woodsmoke, but it was mixed with other scents that were sickeningly sweet. This was a smell I knew all too well, since it often was left in the wake of the River Rat/Monsters when they invaded.

Burning Firemaker flesh. And flesh of another creature I did not recognize.

The Turkmenes were aware of it, now, both snorting and letting out whuffling whistling sounds of caution. Their ears had flattened back, as had my own sensors.

The Firemakers were also onto it, too. Eyeful's Rider sat straight in the saddle, and his bow was now being pulled of that strange leather shell he wore tied to his belt. I felt the priest-Firemaker shift and soon she, too, was stringing a bow, clinging to Ravenwing with just her legs and feet.

The swirling, stinging smoke had now thickened the air so that it was hard to see in front of us. I could just see that Eyeful had now reached the top of the flat hill and was staring out over it.

She was horrifically silent, as was her Rider, who just clenched the bow to his chest.

Kourosh padded up by Eyeful, tail down in caution. Ravenwing now stepped over the brim of the hill and onto the flat top, joining the silent group.

None of us made a sound, but the silence screamed for us.

Below us, the hill sloped down into a deep ravine, giving us a clear view of everything below.

Carnage. Pure and simply: carnage.

Charred forms of body after body after body: mostly Firemaker and Turkmene, but there were a few dragons mixed in. Blackened corpses, ash-white bones and papery black skin.

Most of them were gathered in a circle as though they had banded to together to attack an enemy who had surrounded them. A grisly wall of Turkmenes lay on their sides in a ring around the circle of the slain. A few Firemakers were draped over the bodies as though they had been lying behind their Turkmene's reclining body and firing arrows over it- before they had been brought down by smoke or fire, by tooth or claw.

I felt my heart sink. If these were Eyeful and Ravenwing's Monster/Firemaker tribe, they had a deep bond with their horses. They must have been desperate to have to kill their friends to use as a last- ditch barricade.

::We are a team. Always:: Ravenwing's thought voice was cold and raspy, :: But we don't have our Firemakers kill us like that. Part of our Training involves lying in front of our Riders to shield them, if need be. It was my sisters' and brothers' choice to give their lives to protect their Riders- but what a horrible choice to make. Maybe there was no other::

How did they die? Were they burned to death- or were they burned after they died? Had dragons surrounded them and picked then them off one by one?

I found myself shivering in spite of the fact that Firemakers are my enemies and Monsters. I should have been happy the Monster/Firemakers had been defeated by Dragons. But I was not. It was a just a guess, but still a good one, that the dragons who attacked these slain souls were the same mad ones who had attacked the caravan.

It was Ravenwing's Rider who broke the silence, her voice floating out over the smoke.

"We're too late."

And the unheard words that still spoke loud, the ones Eyeful's Rider had said yesterday.

Only a dragon can defeat a dragon. And we're not dragons.

A/N- Told you it would start getting gritty and grim. What are our protagonists going to do, now? Has everyone died? Is it up to them to take on the mystery of the ensorcelled dragons, now? Or should they go back and get reinforcements.

Only the Shadow knows...

And, just for fun, you can see the differences between Turkmenes and Arabians. Just Google images for "Akhal Teke" (the modern day Turkmene) and "Arabian horse". Which one do you think is prettier? Let me know.

I know in my obligatory "horse worship books" I read as a girl (all girls and some cowboy type boys read 'em) , the descriptions of Akhal Tekes were always very unflattering, usually involving terms like "poor confirmation" and "bad tempered." It wasn't until more of these horses began being bred in Western Europe and North America that you began to read about them as being loyal and devoted to one rider- hence why they are stubborn around everyone else.

Most of our Western world standards of how a horse should look are based on the Thoroughbred and the Arabian, and it's no surprise that most of our riding horses in the Americas, Europe and Oceania have Arabian or Thorougbred in their ancestry. Turkmenes (Akhal Tekes) come from a completely different body type, so it lies outside the "ideal" standard. In fact, they have influenced many Central and South Asian horse breeds. British colonials in the 19th century tried to "upgrade" Turkmenes by crossing them with Thorougbreds. The result was a very weak, inferior, bad tempered creature, so they gave that up and left the equine fishbones the way they were. They are still very good (if odd looking) endurance, eventing and trekking horses.

And, yes, it is believed that Bucephalos, Alexander the Great's famous black stallion, was part Turkmene. Just check out the depictions of horses on Greek, Scythian and Persian art- even some Chinese art. Those tall, long, short-maned horses are all Turkmenes.

You can wake up now.