Solma can barely lift her head. Her shoulders bunch. There’s a lancing pain behind her eyes. Her right knee is swollen, which often happens when she travels a long way on foot. Her flesh-and-blood leg compensates for the fact her left leg is half prosthetic, taking most of the weight. Several times over the last week, her right knee has threatened to buckle, and she’s had to ride on the cart to rest.
She should do that now, but Krait and King are sleeping on the cart beside the rolled-up tents. The ponies are exhausted and she doesn’t want to add to their load. She can cope. She must.
The undulating northern plains roll around them, though they’ve left the eastern mountains far behind. Tussock grasses and scrubby shrubs dot the landscape, catching the cartwheels occasionally. The consta
