October 25th, 1795 aex

Sherik Garde

Picklewood, Watateje, New Alben

He halted Butterhoof behind the southern row of buildings between Larryk’s saloon and the drug store. He’d snuck into town as well as anyone could over such flat, vast terrain. They’d left the road before Picklewood was in sight and circled back once they saw the river and far-off akwa-temple. Butterhoof had enough awareness to avoid the thorns and brambles. Both rider and mount were untouched.

The lands had once been a lush desert, if such a thing existed. There were cacti and thorns, but there’d also been prickly pears, and many other edibles for man and beast. After a single scorching summer, all useful vegetation stayed along the riverbanks, while the thorns and weeds conquered the rest.

Sherik halted Butterhoof behind a stack of empty whiskey crates. It was perfect. He sat back, stretched, and peered across the street at Lottie Meadows. She sat on her front porch, cleaning the deputies’ guns with her ma and sisters.

Whenever Sherik came for her, she was on that porch. Her ma didn’t let them do much other than clean guns. Sherik doubted the deputies even used them enough to warrant the amount of work the four girls would put in.

A row of guns leaned against the railing of the porch, drying in the sun, another row leaned against the wall to their left. Lottie had explained that one row was for the clean, the other for the dirty. One musket leaned just between the door and Lottie’s ma. That musket, Sherik was sure of it, was primed, loaded, and ready. Missus Meadows looked out for her daughters, that was certain.

Lottie looked bored like the rest of her sisters. She was eighteen years old, two years older than Sherik, and so he feared she might leave town soon for the city in the North. Not many folks did that, but the ones who did were usually young women unhappy with life in the small town. That, unfortunately, was Lottie.

She was wasted on that porch cleaning muskets like some gunsmith’s apprentice. The woman liked to ride horses, drink beer, tell offensive jokes, and gamble, all while somehow maintaining a feminine elegance. Just looking at her from so far brought a smile to his sweaty face.

Butterhoof shifted as the backdoor to Larryk’s saloon opened. Sherik’s mind raced to think of an excuse or reason for his loitering, but nothing came. He pulled the reins lightly to calm his mount and decided that Larryk might be interested to know that Sherik had chased a hound away from his crates. Why would he care if a hound was messing with empty crates, you idiot?

Another crate soared from inside the saloon and landed on the ground, striking up a puff of dust around it. The door closed and nothing else happened. Sherik stared at the closed door, frozen, until a grin crept onto his face. He shook his head and laughed at himself. A hound was messing with his crates…

Lottie yawned. He knew it was her without looking. Her voice was loud, but not irritating. He watched her a while longer and hoped for Missus Meadows to get need of the outhouse, or for some other type of distraction to come about.

Lottie pursed her lips as she rubbed a cloth dipped in sweet oil over a disassembled flintlock. The four sisters and their mother worked as a sort of assembly line. Dot, the sixteen-year-old, disassembled the guns. She was a thorn in Sherik and Lottie’s sides. She was quick to warn her Ma of Sherik’s presence and threw insults his way whenever she could. Missus Meadows would take the barrel of the gun, plug the powder hole with a small wedge of wood, and pour water into it using a tin funnel. She’d pour, agitate, and empty over the side of the porch. She’d repeat the process until the water was clean coming out.

The gun passed to Missy, the eleven-year-old, whose task it was to both clean what was left in the barrel with a dry handful of rugged linen, which looked like her own blonde hair, at the end of the ramrod, and to oil the barrel using the same technique but with a different cloth. Lottie oiled the flintlocks, and Daphne, the twelve-year-old, reassembled the guns and leaned them against the rails where they would dry in the sun.

Picklewood was silent. Pa had talked about an abundance of northerners, but Sherik saw none. The bakery was closed, which was odd, but everything else just looked like a normal, quiet day with only a few people walking from one building to another.

The sheriff’s office was quiet. If Meadows was there, he, like his family, would be found on the front porch of his office. Most likely, he and a couple deputies were out on a monthly ranging. They’d tour the roads of the surrounding farmlands making sure nothing was awry while leaving two deputies in town. It was something Sheriff Meadows had started and claimed that no other sheriff did such a thing. Sherik had learned the information on one of his many long rides home in the sheriff’s carriage.

Missus Meadows shifted her shoulders and barked something at Dot. The sixteen-year-old’s head sank, and she nodded. Missus Meadows stood from her tiny chair and retreated into her house.

Sherik stiffened in his saddle and nearly laughed from excitement. He stuffed his fingers between his lips and whistled. The four sisters looked in his direction, but only Lottie’s blue eyes knew exactly where to look. She smiled, hopped over the railing of her front porch, and ran across the street.

Dot stood and shouted. “Ma! That farmer boy has come for Lottie again.”

A disturbance in the house was loud enough for Sherik to hear from across the street. “Hurry!” He shouted to Lottie. She laughed and hopped up onto one of the empty crates. It wasn’t very funny to Sherik, Missus Meadows was not pleasant when angry.

Sherik positioned Butterhoof, and Lottie climbed into the saddle behind him. She wrapped her arms around and kissed his cheek. “You’re my hero,” she joked. “If I had to oil one more—”

He interrupted her by urging Butterhoof into a speedy canter, followed by a gallop not long after.

“Get back here, you farmyard varmint!” Missus Meadows growled from her porch. Two of the sisters laughed as they rode away. It was easy to know which stayed silent. Their voices faded as Butterhoof thundered out away from Picklewood and into the desert.

* * *

They rode through difficult terrain to a place perhaps only they knew of. A mess of small mountains and plateaus was the only thing to be seen other than sand, thorns, cacti, and dead plants for miles. There were also the river and the Seeker Mountains far to the east.

Lottie let out a sigh of contentment. “Why can’t we just live here?”

“Food would run out real quick,” Sherik said. “The river, which would be our only source of water, is too far, there’re barely any animals for hunting, and as we’ve found out before, our cave gets far too cold at night.”

“We set up snares and get mice,” Lottie said. Her arms tightened around him as Sherik steered Butterhoof to avoid a cactus patch.

“It would take a lot of mice to feed a man and a woman,” Sherik said, more focused on the terrain ahead. “Not to mention the eventual children.”

“Who said anything about children?” Lottie laughed. “Just hurry up, will you? It’s been too long since we’ve been there.”

She was right. They hadn’t gone to the cave for what felt like years, though it had only been a few months. They’d last gone at the start of spring and made a pact that they’d visit it often during the summer. They hadn’t gone once in the season. Then again, no one had predicted the kind of summer they’d been about to have.

Butterhoof picked up her pace at Sherik’s soft command and climbed the slope that led to their spot. The incline was made of orange rock, the same colour as the sunset to their west. The sky was, as usual, cloudless, and the air chilled already, even though the sun had not fully set. Sherik did not mind, for it meant that Lottie would be in need of cuddling for warmth.

The first plateau held the last plant strong enough to hitch Butterhoof. It was a dead tree, long stripped of leaves and fruit. Most of its branches were gone, and the tip was charred as if hit by lightning, but the roots were still strong, and the trunk hadn’t hollowed out as was usually the case with ancient tree corpses.

He patted Butterhoof’s neck and took what he needed from the saddlebags—a flint striker, a handful of various flammables he collected during his travels, and a small hunk of salted fish he’d taken from home. Lottie was already half way up the incline to the second plateau. The climb was only about twenty steps, but the view from the top was amazing.

“We won’t be long, girl,” he whispered to his mare. “Don’t worry about wolves or anything, I’ll be watching from up there.” There was a bit of dry grass on which she could graze, but not enough. He reached into another saddlebag and dropped a couple compacts of hay for her to eat at her own leisure. Her white-striped face nodded in thanks, or so he liked to think.

“You coming?” Lottie called from the second plateau. Her voice echoed over the rolling desert.

He waved at her and climbed. She met him at the top with a warm embrace. “Hold on. I’ve got to start this fire before the sun goes down.”

“I know. I just love this place.” She danced. Slow twirls and elegant lunges. There was a real northern stench to her dance, but nothing she did could bother Sherik. “We’re so alone here. No one could tell us what to do, or what not to do. It’s just you and me.”

“And Butterhoof.” Sherik walked across the plateau to the natural cave. They called it “the cave” but it was barely deep enough for the two of them to lay side by side in. He was pleased to see that the pile of sticks he’d gathered in the spring was still there. Easily enough to keep the fire going through the night. More than they needed.

He selected a few and built the foundation for a nice light fire. Lottie continued to dance as Sherik placed the handful of tinder on the ground before the carefully set sticks. He glanced at her and intended to return his attention to starting the fire, but he was forced to double-take.

She was completely illuminated by the setting sun. The sun came from the perfect angle behind the mountain so that the entire plateau, including Sherik, was darkened in shade, and she was the only thing to catch the reddish light. Her otherwise plain and boring dance seemed surreal because of it. She wore her thick brown dress stained with black powder and splotched with oil. It was nearly as thick as leather, and the collar was high. Her form was obscured by the dress, but Sherik didn’t care. He was after more than her looks. They got along better than most friends, and that was what he loved. Also, he’d seen her in the tight-fitting dresses she wore to the akwa-temple.

He watched until he noticed the shade had climbed a few inches up her leg, and he forced himself to focus on the fire. The flame caught on the first spark. The ease of making a fire was the one benefit of everything being dead and dry. Lottie stopped her dance and settled beside him when she saw the flames. She sighed with joy again. “Isn’t this great?”

Sherik nodded. He was never truly happy at their spot on the plateau until the fire was going. He sat back and watched it as the last light of the sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving a dark blue sky filled with faint, waking stars.

Lottie rested her head on Sherik’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming to get me. I know I’ll get a good talking to from Pa, and maybe a nice spanking from Ma, but it’ll be worth it.”

“Not sure my company’s worth the punishment to be honest,” Sherik said. He’d been feeling down of late. He hadn’t even noticed until then, but there was a pain in his heart. Usually Lottie was enough to make him smile through anything, but not now.

“Why would you say that?” Lottie lifted her head from his shoulder and stared at him. He didn’t look back.

“It’s nothing,” Sherik said. “I’m sorry. I just had a long day, I guess. Didn’t realize how tired I was.” He reached for the wrapped meat beside him and held it before her face. “I brought us some fish.”

He unwrapped the meat and left it on the paper. He got up and went to his pile of sticks. He glanced back, thinking Lottie was watching him the whole way, but she was staring into the fire. He selected a stick from the pile and sat down beside Lottie.

“You shouldn’t lie to me.” Lottie stared into the flames. “I know there’s something wrong. This place is supposed to be happy. It’s supposed to be a place where we come, speak of our problems, and help each other through them. Our problems shouldn’t follow us here, and if they do, we should kill them. Burn them in the fire.”

He smiled and drew his hunting knife. He whittled the stick into a spear and pierced the small filet an inch from the end. “You’re right.” He thrust the stick forward and held the meat just above the flames.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Tell me,” Lottie said. “Let’s talk about our problems, figure them out, then throw something into the fire to signify its burning.”

Sherik nodded, expressionless. He liked her idea and wanted to partake. Throwing a problem into the fire seemed like a wonderful idea, but he didn’t know exactly what his problem was. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I don’t know.”

“You must,” Lottie looked at him now. “Look deep inside. I’m sure you’ll find it.”

He tried but could only focus on the fish. Don’t overcook it, boy. Pa’s voice rang. He shifted uncomfortably and held the fish a little higher over the flames. “Sorry, I just don’t know what’s bothering me. Like I said, I think I’m just tired.”

“You’re not just tired.” She smiled. “I know that look you have.”

He was annoyed by her for the first time. He handed her the cooking stick. “Hold this.” She took it without question and Sherik left.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. He walked to the rim of the plateau to check on Butterhoof. It was fully dark now, but the moon lit the world enough for him to see. Butterhoof was at the end of her rope, grazing on a patch of grass Sherik hadn’t seen. There were no threats for miles, as far as he could see in the night. A sudden fear took him. It had nothing to do with the dark or coyotes or any other physical threats that may or may not have been in the vicinity. His fear was of Pa. Pa would never hurt him, and he doubted he would even shout at him, but he had a way with words that cut deeper than a physical spanking ever could.

Sherik returned to Lottie’s side and took the stick. “I know what it is.”

She perked up, as if he was about to recount an exciting tale of a far away land. He ignored her reaction and spoke. “It’s my pa.” A wave of emotion rushed to his throat, as if simply stating his discovery was enough to shatter some longstanding dam. He coughed and refused to show his weakness. “He’s very disappointed with me and I don’t know why. He’s always calling after me and asking where I’ve been. He tells me what I should be doing instead, and he always complains that I don’t help the farm.”

“Well maybe—”

“He has no idea how much I actually help.” Sherik lost a bit of control over his voice. It was on the verge of tears and rose higher with every word. “I’ve made more money selling feathers than he has selling crops this year.”

Lottie reached for his free hand and wound her fingers through his. It relieved his pain more than he thought physical contact ever could.

“Does he know you’ve made that money?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure he’d be happy to learn of an alternative income. Especially after this summer.”

Sherik nodded. The truth was, he liked having his own secret income. He could help the farm and buy little things he wanted without having to answer to anyone or ask permission. It made him feel like a man, which summoned a whole other emotional problem. “He calls me boy.” Tears stung in the corners of his eyes. He coughed again and scratched them away, hard enough to cause pain.

“You are his boy, though,” Lottie said. “I think parents have a hard time accepting that their children aren’t children anymore.”

Sherik shook his head. “Maybe in towns and cities. He treats Net like we’re equals. Jerri is his favourite. He treats her like she’s your age. She’s only fifteen. I’m older than her. She doesn’t make any money. He just loves her because she reads and does everything he says.”

“Do you love her?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Does your pa love you?”

Sherik paused. “I don’t know. I think I’ve disappointed him beyond repair.”

He pulled the fish from the flames and placed it skin-first onto one of the rocks around the fire. Lottie let go of his hand as he grabbed another stick to pull the rock closer to them and farther from the heat. The piece of meat sizzled and shot up a steady stream of smoke. It looked perfect.

“He loves you,” Lottie said.

“How do you know?” He looked into her eyes. He didn’t care if she knew of his tears anymore. She had some of her own to his surprise. It made her look even more beautiful somehow. Then again, she could roll around in the mud and lose her teeth and still be beautiful to Sherik.

“Take my pa, for example.” Lottie snatched a tiny pinch of meat, ate it, and began to speak. “He calls me his little handful. Now, I know that sounds odd, but don’t worry, he means it because I’m always getting into trouble. But no matter how much trouble I get into, he still tries to steer me right. He never just shouts, and he never hits me, but he always tries to talk with me. He asks why I do the things I do.”

“Sounds like my pa,” Sherik said with a mouthful of fish.

Lottie pinched another piece of fish into her mouth as Sherik spoke, swallowed it, and continued. “And that’s how I know he loves you. If I go out to drink, or if I fight another girl, or if I steal my parents’ money to play cards, I know my pa will be upset,” she paused and slouched, “very upset, but I know he won’t hurt me. He’ll ask why I did it and try to help me through whatever the reason was.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?” He put a hand up. “Not that I care.”

“Because it isn’t always Pa who catches me.” Her eyes fell to the flames and she wrapped an embrace around her robed knees. “Ma disciplines me nearly every time because Pa is usually gone or busy with some sheriff duty or another. Ma doesn’t love me. She loves my sisters, but not me. Not her first.”

“Of course she does,” Sherik blurted. He felt stupid the moment the words left his mouth. He reflected on everything she’d just said and realized how she might’ve come to such a conclusion. He was going to apologize and reveal that he understood what she meant, but she spoke first.

“I’m the only one she hits,” Lottie said. Her voice quivered. “I’m the only one she yells at. I’m the only one she never talks to, and the only one who can’t make her laugh. When we sit on the porch cleaning guns, she converses with my sisters. She asks them if they like any boys, what sort of dresses they’ll want to wear on their weddings, how they’d like to style their hair… a bunch of things like that. But if I try to answer those questions or participate in any of those conversations, she just looks at me and tells me to focus on the flintlock and to make sure I don’t miss a spot like I always do. I never missed a spot. She just hates me.”

Sherik didn’t know what to say. A belch brewed within him, and he did everything in his power to keep it down. It rumbled in his throat and he quietly blew it from his nose, hoping to God Lottie was oblivious of it.

“That’s why I’m here,” Lottie said, seemingly unaware of Sherik’s ridiculous inner struggle. “I know my ma is going to hit me and yell at me for any reason. She’ll even make up a reason to do it, so I might as well give her a reason. I do things to anger her because it makes the punishments make sense in my head. It isn’t just senseless spanking and punching if I stole her money and wasted it away at Larryk’s saloon.” She wiped her tears and looked at Sherik, who hadn’t touched the fish for some time. “I’m sorry. We were talking about your pa.”

“No, no.” He raised his hand again. “You’ve made me realize that I really have nothing to complain about. My pa is a great man, just like yours. Everything I do for the farm, everything that would change his opinion of me for the better is done in secret. How should I expect him to see my value if I keep it hidden?”

“Will you tell him?”

Sherik thought about it. Nothing Pa might plausibly do seemed frightening after hearing the horrors of Lottie’s ma. “Yeah. I think I will. Thanks.” He searched for a rock and leaned to reach one when he found it. He threw it into the flames. “You’re right, that does feel better.” She laughed and hugged him. He kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled like a familiar flower he couldn’t identify. He nearly fell asleep in her embrace, but something still tugged at his heart. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my problem is in the fire but yours is still right here.” He put his hand over her heart.

She put her hand over his. “Don’t worry about me. There’s nothing I can do other than running away from home. I’m not brave enough to do that, and I could never leave my pa behind.”

He’d gotten to a position where he could put his hand on her chest at will. His young man’s mind told him that that was all that mattered at the moment, but he must’ve been in love, for he was about to risk it by attempting to give advice. Something he’d never done before. “Maybe we both have secrets our pa’s need to hear.”

She looked up at him. Her face was only half a foot from his. It took everything not to kiss her. Her lips slightly parted in thought. “What do you mean?”

“I think your pa should know how your ma treats you.” Sherik looked to the flames, unable to maintain eye contact through the difficult conversation. Coyotes sang their shrill song in the distance, and the constant rattle of a thousand night bugs rang. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. You deserve to be loved like the rest of us.” He was silent for a moment as he thought about just how much he truly cared for her. It surprised even him. “You deserve so much more.”

She pulled his chin until they were face to face again. “You’re right. I’ll tell him.” She kissed him. They’d kissed before, but never like this. It was a purely emotional kiss with none of the fun. It reminded Sherik of Ma and Pa’s kisses during hard times after late night conversations about the future of the farm and the family. They’d have their difficult conversations when they thought the children were asleep, and they would always celebrate their resolution with a kiss.

Their lips separated, and Sherik kept his eyes closed for a while after. He opened them to find Lottie grinning at him. “What are you smiling about?”

She laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a kiss like that.”

“Me neither.” Sherik looked at the sky. The half moon was in the sun’s noon position. He felt a chill despite his proximity to the flames and the warmth of desire. “We should probably get home.”

“Are you kidding?” Lottie recoiled jokingly. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

Neither did he. “We don’t want to worry our folks. Your pa will be looking for you soon. We can’t deprive Picklewood of its sheriff for our own selfish reasons.”

“Imagine what he’d say if he saw us kissing like that?” Lottie’s eyes were wide and full of thrill.

Sherik shuddered at the thought. “He’d probably kill me. A little scoundrel from the farmlands kissing his beautiful daughter.”

“He likes you, you know,” Lottie said.

He would never accuse her of lying, but that was one statement he refused to believe. “I’ve been nearly as much trouble for him as you have. There’s no way he could like me. He’s always catching me at night and having to bring me back home. I’ve cost him many needless miles. I know because he always tells me.”

She laughed. A bright, wild sound, much like the coyotes in the distance. “No, I’m serious. He told me that you reminded him of himself at your age. He also said that because of that, I should be careful.”

The words made Sherik happy for some reason. He smirked. “Maybe I’ll become sheriff one day.”

They both laughed at the idea.

“Maybe mice will chase cats,” Lottie said amidst her laughter.

It was an innocent joke, but it wiped the smile from Sherik’s face. Why couldn’t he be sheriff one day? Lottie put both hands on his jaw and kissed him again. It was more of a playful kiss, the kind they were used to, and the pain of her joke was instantly gone.

“I know one thing my pa wouldn’t approve of,” Lottie said with a dangerous look in her eye. She shifted back a bit and unlaced the front of her brown dress.

This moment was one Sherik had been waiting for, but now that it had arrived, he was nervous and wanted to wait. His eyes were wide, and he knew it, but he made no effort to hide it. Why did she have to mention her pa’s disapproval before unlacing?

She pulled her arms from the sleeves and pushed the dress down to her waist. She leaned back on her hands and let him look. He’d never seen a woman so close to being naked. At least not a desirable one. He’d seen Jerri and Ma change countless times, but that was nothing like this.

She smirked as if she knew the mess of emotions her actions had caused. She fingered the straps of her smallclothes on her shoulder. The fabric went low and stopped just short of hiding her navel. Her nipples were hidden, but her breasts were pushed up and together by the fabric. It was too much for his young mind to handle, especially after how well-hidden her body had been in the work dress. There’d been no time to adjust.

“What are you waiting for?” She deepened her voice slightly and spoke just above a whisper.

He thought of the sheriff and what he’d do if he ever found out. It was probably best to wait until they were married or at least had the sheriff’s blessing. Lottie peeled one of the straps down her arm, which caused the hold of her smallclothes to loosen a little.

Sherik exhaled sharply. “I guess he doesn’t need to find out.” He kicked his boots off and climbed on top of her.

* * *

Sherik had bought a pinch of tobacco and a cheap pipe with a bit of the feather money, and he smoked on the ride home. It had been a great day. He’d helped the farm by bringing in some more money, and he’d spent quality time with Lottie. He hadn’t been able to get the smirk off his face since they left the cave.

She’d kissed him longer than he would’ve liked when he’d dropped her off not far from her home. Visions of the sheriff hearing and discovering them had plagued his mind, and though he wanted the kiss to last for ever, he’d prefer to be as far from the sheriff as possible while it took place.

But they hadn’t got caught. The night was a success, and he rode the long, lonely road between Picklewood and home. He was surprised to find that he did not fear going home to face the consequences of his disappearance. Instead, he was concerned for what Missus Meadows might do to Lottie. Whatever she chose to do, it was likely happening right then.

He tried not to dwell on it. They were both going to reveal their secrets to their pas and things would get better. One more night of hitting and screaming couldn’t stop Lottie. She was strong.

As for Pa, whatever he said to Sherik in the morning would all be swept away when he learned of the money. He just needed to think of a good way to present the information. He would have to do it quick, because Pa liked to talk over others, especially when angry. He’d stash the satchels in the loft for the night and approach him after breakfast.

Butterhoof halted on her own accord. She half reared and stomped her front hooves. Sherik put a hand on her neck and looked around. “It’s alright, girl.” There was nothing but the desert at the bottom of the incline and a patch of forest to their left.

Something shuffled in the woods. Sherik whipped his head in its direction and scoffed. A white lizard stood gripped against a tree trunk. Its bright skin caught the moonlight well. It looked as if it emitted its own light in the darkness of the trees.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Sherik said. “Let’s go home, girl. Pa’s going to be a lot more frightening than a lizard if we wait much long—” His voice trailed off when he saw the man just behind the lizard’s tree. He held a thick rope, tied like a lasso, and stared their way. Sherik’s spine tingled.

Two others appeared behind the man, and hoofbeats sounded down the road from where he’d come. The man with the rope shifted. “Go, girl, run!” Sherik never needed to kick Butterhoof like most riders. She could read the urgency in his voice. She galloped. He looked just in time to see the round part of the lasso fall to where he’d been barely a moment before.

The hoofbeats were louder. Sherik turned and saw three horsemen round the bend. Each had a musket slung over their backs. They wore dark coats and dark hats. He was unable to make out any details in his quick glance under the night sky. “Faster, girl!”

Butterhoof was fast. Faster than most. But she’d ridden all day, and the other horses were already at full speed. She’d get there, Sherik trusted her, but how long would she be able to maintain the speed? The riders gained significant distance every time Sherik looked.

A wagon rolled onto the road from the forest just a couple dozen yards ahead. Sherik cursed. “Go around it!” He pulled her reins to steer her around the still-rolling wagon. There was only a foot or two of road between the wagon and the sharp decline into the desert. He knew their chances were low, but there were no other options.

Butterhoof snorted a complaint and shook her head. It was unlike her to disobey, but she must’ve seen the futility of his idea. In the last short moment before crashing into the wagon, Sherik slammed his eyes shut and hugged Butterhoof’s neck. He was more worried for her injuries than his own.

His body was nearly thrown out the saddle. Butterhoof jumped! He opened his eyes as the wagon passed beneath them in what seemed like slowed time. Butterhoof landed, he nearly fell off again but held on, and the steed continued at a consistent pace as if nothing had even happened.

Sherik couldn’t help but laugh. “Good job, girl!” He cheered with a fist in the air and looked back to see that two of the pursuer’s horses had reared to a halt instead of attempting the jump. The other’s back legs caught on the wagon, and the animal crashed onto the road. The rider slammed into the dirt before his mount, and the horse rolled over him, most likely breaking many bones. The horse’s momentum caused it to roll off the road, down the decline, and to finally settle in a patch of thorny bushes.

About ten men stood together on the other side of the wagon and watched as he rounded another bend and rode out of sight. “You’re the best horse who’s ever lived, you know that?”

Butterhoof continued her gallop. Home was not far.