Page 57 of Tusks & Saddles
“You ready?” Miss Eaves asked.
Welborn snapped back to attention, realizing that he hadn’t finished tying his extra rope to his horses saddle just yet. He had been so completely lost in thought, he was embarrassed to admit he didn’t really recall what had happened after saying goodbye to Bit and being handed the reins to a horse.
“Almost, Miss Eaves,” he said, quickly securing the rope.
“Here,” she said before thrusting something against his shoulder.
To his surprise, a familiar green liquid appeared before him. Unlike acid, the liquid inside was a lush green. Natural and inviting, almost like tea thick with honey. It reminded him of his mother’s smile, for some reason.
“A potion?”
“Kay had a few spares. Nothing fancy, but in case we get into trouble, it never hurts to be prepared. And where we’re going, we need all the help we can get.”
Warmth itched its way across his skin. Or perhaps he had a newly discovered dust allergy. Either way, Welborn thanked Miss Eaves and pocketed the potion. She had already managed to swing up onto her horse—in a dress of all things. Miss Eaves looked even more regal, a figure in black upon a pale white horse.
Welborn’s own horse was a sandy color, which solidified the animals name. Sandy was at least patient as Welborn awkwardly hoisted himself up. His foot nearly fell out of the stirrup as he tried to swing the other leg over.
“You okay, there?” Miss Eaves asked.
“Perfect!” Welborn assured, face pressed against the saddle as he straightened his footing.
“You do know how to ride a horse… right?”
Welborn somehow managed to seat himself properly on the saddle. Though the struggle to get there had taken longer than Welborn would have liked. He straightened his spine, took hold of the reins, and sent Miss Eaves a confident look.
“I do.”
“Good,” Miss Eaves said. “Let’s ride.”
Welborn had learned rather quickly why MissEaves wore a veil.
The moment they had left the city proper, the dust trail behind her horse had picked up. The wind carried it straight to his face, blinding him momentarily as Welborn choked. He had lost control of Sandy, veering far off to the left. Welborn was certain they would have hit one of the tall weeds if Miss Eaves hadn’t rushed over to save him.
“This is why you wear a kerchief when you ride out here,” she had grumbled.
Miss Eaves had helped him rinse the dirt from his eyes, tossed a greasy rag at him, and instructed him to cover his face with it. Before Welborn could question or apologize, Miss Eaves had taken off again. Welborn hurriedly did as she instructed and followed, fists tight as he urged Sandy to pick up her pace so they didn’t fall behind. All the while, Welborn tried his best to not overthink the embarrassing encounter.
So, his horse riding was…not great. Welborn had never thought of himself as a city kid, but like many ways of travel, Welborn preferred the old fashioned way of keeping his feet firmly planted on the ground. It had worked fine for him when his family had lived in the woods.
At least, it had before…
Welborn glanced down at his hand, felt the strange divine pulse where the missing flesh once was. The accident had been a lifetime ago. Ten years, in fact, just a few months after the glowing rose moon, Chandris, crested to the large white moon, Eluthka. Welborn remembered it, as his mother had often told him the legends of Arahan—the Heaven’s Cradle. A goddess that had created Ordia—at least, that’s what the helfen believed.
His mother had heard the story from an air helfen that she had known from her youth. A beautiful pale woman with skin the color of a clear day, dressed in shimmering robes of the finest silk she had ever seen. Air helfen were rare in his mother’s village as they tended to live at the very top of mountains. Some supposedly even lived in the sky, and that’s why the denizens of Ordia rarely saw any of them around. The rumored sky castles were dismissed by common folk, but Welborn believed it to be true because his mother had insisted it was.
“They come down from the mountain to trade knowledge, wares, and stories. They’re as graceful as any Vvaserin dancer, they seemingly glide across the ground. And their language is so beautiful, Welborn, they practically whistle when they speak,” his mother had said as they looked up at the moons in the dark sky.
Welborn’s mother had been a romantic at heart. Miss Eaves, on the other hand, was a harsh contrast to the woman who had raised him. In fact, it was difficult not to compare the two as the midday sun beat down on Welborn.
Daisy had been trusting, open—a bleeding heart according to his father. Yet, those were all the things that had made Larok fall in love with her. Miss Eaves was anything but trusting based on the time Welborn had spent with her. She was more than a little cautious, if Welborn was honest.
Paranoid,he thought as he squinted at her trailing veil.Definitely a bit paranoid.
Welborn’s mother had been a homemaker. She had baked bread, mended torn trousers, and gathered mushrooms for dinner. Miss Eaves, on the other hand, didn’t strike the cleric as the type that would enjoy homesteading. In fact, Welborn wasn’t certain she would ever be the type that would even consider settling down.
The amusing thought of her sitting on the porch of his childhood cabin home with her fancy firearm—as Bit had briefly explained the weapon to him—waiting for some unfortunate soul to wander onto the land. She’d most likely fire first and ask questions later.
She’s more like my father than my mom—
