Quickpaw padded through the snow with a spring in each step, following close behind the House Vigilance riders that led the way.
Only an hour had transpired since the line of ten ictharrs had departed from the convoy, clad in their coats that hid the leather vests beneath. Gerbeast leather shielded their paws and hind paws from the light snowfall. Even a blizzard, however, could not survive Corsair’s newfound spirit.
He rode in fifth place of the search party – behind the five militia riders – and scanned the horizon with persisting hope in his heart. Quickpaw needed no spurring on. The ictharr revelled in the journey, relishing the freedom of movement with his master alongside him. Quickpaw yapped.
“Good ictharr,” Corsair said, petting his head. “Good ictharr.”
Quickpaw mewled in than
