Chapter Twelve
"Rats in the Cellar"P
icket snorted to himself, stamped a foreleg, and chewed boredly. He was uncomfortable. His mane and tail were matted, his hide was dusty, and flies were attracted to his sweat.
"Be still," Eahn whispered into an ear. "Leastwise you're safe unless we're recognized. And you’re probably safe after that, if Finnbhear still holds a soft spot for your folk" He patted the pooka's flanks companionably before walking off to barter with the blacksmith.
Picket flicked his offended ear. Raori, sitting in Picket's new saddle, fingered his spear almost sadly. He barely noticed the occasional pebble bouncing from the street. Picket was getting annoyed when he knew it was supposed to be the other way around. The least the mage could do was pretend to be bothered.
