Page 76 of Blood Fist

That, and Schok was clearly sent to kill Ridan. Whoever this maker was wanted Ridan dead. That was their first mistake.

The second was not finishing the job.

Because the second Ridan gets his fangs into that fucker’s throat, they’re going to regret putting his people in danger.

PART TWO

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE INDIGNITIES OF FEATHERS

They started out well before dawn. While everyone slept, Ridan and Brune settled onto their horses’ backs. Blinking sleep from their eyes, they waited until they’d cleared the festival grounds before releasing the feather.

Derry had cleverly tied a leather string around the spine, the other end fastened to Brune’s belt. It strained above Boulder’s head, yanking the string every so often to test its strength. He worried about it. If they lost the feather, they would have nothing to guide them, but Ridan trusted Derry. He may have questionable tastes in alpha, and an annoying habit of speaking too early in the morning, but he was good when it came to these kinds of things.

Ridan refused to tie the thing to his own belt. It was bad enough they were on some impossible mission to find a magic user—that may or may not bewitch them before they open their mouths—but they were doing so in secret, to save a man that killed clansmen.

It didn’t sit right with him, but it was for Corric, so he would follow the stupid feather as far as he had to.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain about it.

By the time the sun rose, they had ridden out farther than Ridan ever had. The feather was guiding them west, toward the Jagged Coast. Stone Blade rarely found themselves this far west—besides meeting with the Windy Cliff Clan, there was nothing much there for them. All the bigger game was east, in the forests or north over the mountain range.

At midday, they stopped at a pond to rest the horses, letting them drink and nap in the shade. Brune was sitting on a rock, feet dipped into the shallow water as he leaned back and closed his eyes. He looked at ease. With no shirt, skin toasty from the sun, and his dark messy hair pulled back—there was hardly any trace of the soldier Ridan had tackled to the ground.

The snap jaw teeth nestled against his broad chest. Even in the shade, the beads were a pleasant contrast. They matched him. Bright, smooth, and unnatural against the lethality of the teeth clicking against them.

Standing on the bank, Ridan looked out at the water in time to see a snake sliding across the placid surface. A small thing, maybe the length of Ridan’s forearm. It was so perfectly camouflaged by its environment that he nearly missed it.

Smacking Brune, he pointed to the snake as it slithered onto the muddy bank, forked tongue flicking out to test the air.

Brune sat up so quickly he spooked the thing. The snake shied away, wiggling through the mud away from them.

“What is it?” he asked with the same wonder he always did.

“A snake,” Ridan answered, trying not to laugh. “Shy creatures. They’d rather scurry off than bite.”

Brune was fascinated, sitting up so he could watch thelittle thing make its way around the bank. “How do they move with no arms or legs?”

The question surprised Ridan. He’d never really considered it. Snakes were just snakes. They moved the way they did, and that was it. He remembered finding them with his parents when he was a kid, using a stick to flip over rocks and squealing in delight when one would grumpily slither away into the underbrush.

“Same as anything, I guess.” He shrugged. “It adapts.”

Brune pouted a little as the snake finally moved out of sight, disappearing into the thick trees around the pond.

Ridan rested against a rock, letting his shoulder brush against Brune’s.

Adaptability. That was something he’d never taken the time to consider. Corric’s horse only had one eye, yet Strawberry had no issues navigating the rockiest of trails or crowded pens. Animals were good that way. They didn’t sit around dwelling on what they had, or what they lost. They didn’t spend their lives wishing for whatcouldhave been. A snake did not curl up and bemoan his lack of arms. It just learned how to slither.

Following the feather stubbornly pulling on its leash, the day passed with comforting silences and idle chatter. Brune told Ridan a little more about his childhood, but mostly asked endless questions about whatever caught his eye. Everything from the names of rock formations ‘not everything has a name, Foreigner!’to the names of the animals he didn’t recognize.

Ridan laughed when he nearly leapt off Boulder in excitement when a simple rock lizard dashed across their path.

Eventually, thick storm clouds roiled on the horizon. The familiar, foreboding scent of clouds thick withrain and lightning grew stronger, and it became a mad dash to find somewhere safe to spend the night. They found some thick trees that looked to have once been part of a farmer’s field. They were entwined, as if planted on purpose, and would give them some semblance of shelter.

Best of all, they were heavy with fruit.

After tending to Peppercorn and Boulder, Ridan reached for some of the low hanging fruit. They brought provisions, but hardtack and dried meat paled in comparison to fresh fruit. Ridan recognized this pitted fruit. Sehleh liked to make juice from it when they were in season. He was surprised they were still here. Winter was coming and no doubt the fruit would make an excellent hibernation treat for an animal.