Stallion Assassin

Chapter 3

I closed the distance between us just after sunset. We were out on the plains by then, the trees having grown sparser until they gave way entirely, replaced mostly by grass, with the occasional cluster of scrubby bushes. Raneld had built a fire, I’d seen the light of it not long after sundown, and it hadn’t taken long to reach his camp.

My nose told me that there was water somewhere nearby. Probably a seep, which would explain the little clump of cottonwood trees on the otherwise dry, treeless plain. That also explained where he’d gotten the wood for the fire.

It meant he had the trees to his back, where my hooves would no doubt inevitably break a twig or bend a branch if I tried to sneak through. Perhaps if I circled around and approached carefully from the side, I might still be able to creep up unnoticed. I could just see, by the fire’s glow, that he was wearing human form. If I could make a sudden rush at the last second, I could probably trample him and-

I halted in place. What was I thinking? Apparently, I had stalked Raneld with thoughts of his death running through my mind for too long. There was no reason to kill him now. Indeed, I wasn’t really certain why I was following him at all, save that I had nothing else to do.

Shaking my head as if to shake off the violence I had been contemplating, I approached his camp openly. As I came to the edge of the fire’s light, he looked up. A small smile crossed his face and he said, “Welcome, Valde Fitzroy. Come, join me.”

I took up humanity again, and spoke as soon as I had voice to do it with. “You seemed very certain it was me.”

Raneld chuckled at that. “There are not many magnificent Arabian stallions running loose here. Who else would it be, so far from home? But here, dress yourself and come share my dinner. I scared up a brace of quail just as I began setting camp.”

He gestured at a smooth rock beside him, and two indistinct lumps on it were suddenly recognizable as a pair of roast quail. My stomach growled at the thought of food, but his other words made me suddenly very aware of how naked I was. I quickly dug through my bag to find my clothing and donned it in haste, before crossing to the other side of the fire and sitting near Raneld. Wordlessly, he held out a quail to me.

My mouth watered at the sight of it. I’d brought some food on my journey, but mostly I’d paused to graze as a horse when I found something good along my way. I hadn’t had meat in what seemed like an eternity. I tore into it eagerly, pausing only to belatedly mutter a vague thank you to my former quarry. I wasn’t sure why he was being so kind. I wasn’t sure of much of anything right now, truth be told. But the food was good, and for the moment I focused on that. It is part of being a shifter, I think, to be able to live in the moment, as the animals that are our other halves always do.

We ate in silence for some time. Even after the quail had been reduced to a pile of cleanly picked bones, we sat without speaking.

I looked over at Raneld, at his strong-jawed face highlighted by the orange glow of the fire. He was a little taller than me, though we both had similar, athletic builds. His hair was dark to my light, a jet black that I knew would show almost blue highlights in the sunlight, though the fire painted it with crimson and gold. He had a thick streak of white in the center of his forehead that fell forward into his eyes, though it could not be from age, he was in his mid-twenties, no older than I. His eyes, still startlingly blue even by firelight, met mine and he regarded me solemnly, still silent. I think he might have remained silent all night, but eventually I spoke.

“Why are you headed north?” I asked.

“East, actually,” was his laconic reply.

“East?” I glanced at the sky. The faint glow where the sun had long since set told me that we had been heading a little east, but mostly north all day.

“I only went north to be clear of the foothills. Tomorrow I’ll turn east, and keep on until I reach the eastern coastal lands.”

“But why?”

He shrugged. “I hear there are shifters there. They say Atlantia is ruled by werewolves.”

I frowned. “That’s not exactly what I meant. Why not go back to Wiefeld? You’re a prince now. You could live a life of power and luxury, and probably have your pick of half the surrounding kingdom’s princesses in marriage, since your brothers are both already wed.”

He shrugged again. “Princesses are overrated.”

I could think of no answer to give in response to that, so we sat in silence. It was a strangely comfortable silence. Raneld had been my enemy, but it seemed he bore no animosity towards me, and I had none towards him, either. Indeed, as I looked at him over the fire, I couldn’t help but find him handsome. Princesses, he said, were overrated. But what, then, of princes?