Page 66 of Tusks & Saddles
No, no, no, stop, stop that!Welborn’s panicked mind shouted.
It wasn’t…appropriate to be thinking of Miss Eaves in such a way! She was helping him—helpingthe High Cleric! The man was missing and potentially in grave danger! Yet, here Welborn was getting flustered at the soft curve of hips beneath his hands and the sway of her body as they rode farther into the desert.
All Seer, please give me the strength to focus on the task at hand,Welborn all but internally whined.
Unhelpfully, his mind offered the memory of the lilac thigh he had seen the night before. Soft and inviting—and a rather unusual color now that Welborn thought of it. Purple skin wasn’t as common as green or brown. In fact, Welborn could recall maybe seeing one or two individuals with purple skin in his time in Port Vurbali.
Goblins usually boasted the most diverse tones due to their unique ancestry. Newborn goblin babies were born with a grayish tone, nearly white—though it was debatable as most goblins wereincredibly protective of their newborns. They were literal blank canvases that were given a short period of time to develop a permanent skin color. That color was a reflection of their diets as their skin would absorb the pigments of the foods they ate. If a particular child preferred strawberries, eventually that child would turn a reddish pink.
The goblins in Port Vurbali tended to be shades of red or green due to the common diet of crab and leafy greens. Occasionally, there would be a few of various shades who had traveled from far away. Welborn knew he had seen a purple goblin before, but he couldn’t ever recall seeing a purple woman near his own height—
A sudden lurch of the horse nearly sent Welborn’s head into the crown of Miss Eaves’ head. Luckily, he caught himself, hands squeezing her hips in a way he momentarily panicked was so very-not-okay. The apology was already bubbling in his throat when Welborn realized they had stopped.
“What is it?” he asked, glancing around.
The environment hadn’t changed much since they had started riding. The same long stretch of dirt, dust, and stray dried plants as far as the eye could see. The only real way Welborn was keeping track of time was by the positioning of the sun. Whatever Miss Eaves was eyeing wasn’t in his purvey.
“Remember those rows in the dirt? I thought after last night they were just the roots of those plant creatures.”
It was an astute observation given how close the disturbed earth had been to their camp site and Welborn said as much.
“Well, I’m getting a feeling that’s not it,” Miss Eaves went on before steering Sandy a bit to the left. “You see that?”
With Miss Eaves’ large hat out of his vision, Welborn spotted her concern. There were the same rows of dirt mounds that they had seen the day before. Only this time, there appeared to be a trail of dust that was wafting in the breeze in their wake. Welborn followed the rows off into the distance, eyes narrowing. If he had to guess, he’d approximately say the dust clouds disappeared about a hundred fifty to seventy feet away.
“Yeah,” he said near what he thought was her ear. “I see that…that’s not good, whatever that is.”
“Got that right,” Miss Eaves replied. “Whatever those are, they’re headed in the same direction as us.”
“I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence?” Welborn hoped.
“No. The Searing Wastelands aren’t traveled much, but the path we’re on has been traveled enough that foragers and hostile monsters to wonder the same route.”
Welborn tensed, swallowing hard.
“You…are you telling me we’re traveling in an area where there are evenmoremonsters?”
“Better this path than the others,” Miss Eaves said. “Most horses can’t make the rougher trails, the mountains are too steep. They’ll likely fall off the side before you’d ever reach the tops. Not to mention some of the rougher wild life out here. I can admit I made a mistake with those plant things yesterday. That was an oversight I won’t make again, but I won’t budge when it comes to deviating from the path. It’s still the fastest and safest way to travel.”
She tensed as his hands tightened against her waist, but she didn’t scold him. And for that, Welborn was thankful.
“I don’t blame you for last night,” he said, sincerely. “I researched Irongarde before I traveled here by ship. There wasn’t a single mention about man-eating plant life. I apologize if this makes you uncomfortable, but there’s no need for guilt. You don’t have to prove anything to me, Miss Eaves. I know you’re a woman of your word and I do trust you.”
Welborn may have been inexperienced when it came to women, but he wasn’t completely oblivious to Miss Eaves’ disposition. She was a capable woman, a clever woman, and the miscalculation last night must have stung her pride. Whether she realized it or not, Welborn knew he wouldn’t have made it the past few days without her.
“You’re too sweet, Welborn,” Miss Eaves said with a strange note to her voice.
Honestly, he wasn’t certain what to make of it. Any thought he may have once had in his head vanished as she peered over her shoulder. The wind was still hot, there was sweat on his upper lip, but none of that mattered. She was so close now that Welborn could see the intricate patterns of her veil. Floral embroidery of the finest quality danced in the breeze, offering him the teasing silhouette of her face. Welborn had to use his imagination to fill in the missing pieces, but there was no doubt in his mind that her eyes were staring into his.
Welborn nearly jumped when Miss Eaves placed her hand over his own, gloved fingers slipping over the missing back of his hand. Most people didn’t touch Welborn there—he was too skittish for even the most casual touch, gloves or no. Yet, like many unexpected firsts, Miss Eaves touch didn’t make him want to pull away. In fact, Welborn found himself unconsciously leaning forward until her back was flushed with his front.
Oh, this is new…
He had never held a woman like this before. Even when consoling the most distraught denizens, Welborn had kept an appropriate amount of distance. Enough physical touch to offer respite but no more as to make others uncomfortable. A clasping of hands or a pat on the shoulder. This was vastly different, especially the way Welborn’s heart was racing.
“I…I’ve been called softhearted my entire life,” he confessed, though he wasn’t sure what brought on the admission.
It was unwise to be soft in a world so big and dangerous. Something he was certain she would have agreed with if he had brought the subject up at the tavern dinner table.
