Let’s ride
1530 Words
Amara said it like a promise: “We’re about to go fast.” With a just and pure grit laced with fire.
She yanked the reins, and the horse beneath them groaned before bursting forward with everything it had left. Hooves hit the ground like war drums—fast, uneven, full of rage and desperation.
But it wasn’t enough.
Saltana clutched the little girl tight against her chest, bouncing wildly in the back of the rattling cart like someone being punished for something she didn’t remember doing.
“This horse is weak,” she gasped. “This cart is slow—oh no, oh no—they’re going to catch us!”
The child stirred, groaning in her sleep.
Saltana kept rambling with wide eyes that looked like two cracked plates. “I’ve never kissed a guy I actually liked! I’ve never done couples stuff! I’ve never even fallen in love! I was saving all of that for a big romantic moment that was supposed to come later on, and now I’m going to die in a dusty meat wagon!”
Her voice pitched up as the cart bumped hard and the little girl’s head rolled against her collarbone. Saltana squealed, biting her lower lip while bouncing like a loose chicken in a burlap sack.
Amara snapped her head halfway around, still steering with one arm. “Will you shut it and think of a way to get us out of this without giving me a migraine?!”
The cart jostled again.
Saltana threw one hand up in the air, with wild eyes. “I can’t think under pressure! And what’s with the yelling?! My ribs are bruised! My soul is tired!”
“You want to swap places and take the reins?!” Amara barked.
“No! No-no-no! I’m barely qualified to be alive right now!”
Amara gritted her teeth and growled low. “Ugh, okay, Saltana—listen! Do those soldiers have archers?”
Saltana blinked, blinking like she just now realized this wasn’t a dream. “Wait—what?!”
“Check if they’re trying to shoot at us!” Amara snapped.
“Are you kidding me?! What if I see my death before it happens?! I’ll faint!”
“I swear to the bright flame—” Amara hissed. “Saltana! Calm down. Analyze. Focus. Can. You. Handle. A. Horse?”
“I… I’ve never done that before,” Saltana said, biting her lip like she’d just failed a test.
Amara stared dead ahead, then muttered, “So what can you do?”
There was a pause.
“…Nothing, ma’am.”
Amara nearly swerved the whole cart off-course.
“But,” Saltana continued, closing her eyes, inhaling deeply like she was about to walk into a courtroom. “I’ll listen… calmly, so tell me what I should do.”
She forced herself to sit up straighter, raised her chin up and put her chest out. Her whole body wobbled like uncooked dough, but she was committed.
“Alright. Turn slowly. Keep her head cushioned and observe.”
Saltana exhaled through her teeth, twisted her neck just enough to peer over the cart—
And squinted.
“I see them… definitely soldiers. Yep. Swords, spears, terrifying glints. Oh gods.”
“Focus,” Amara said.
“They do have archers! But… wait—”
She narrowed her eyes.
“They’re… They’re not aiming at us!”
Amara snapped her head slightly furrowing her brows. “What?”
“They’re waving—”
“Waving what?”
“A white flag!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! Like, side to side! Very flaggy! Very peace-gesturely!”
Amara yanked the reins slightly as the horse began to slow down.
“White flag means they just want to talk…” she muttered.
Saltana strained harder as the riders closed the distance.
Then her jaw dropped.
“Wait—wait—WAIT! I know one of them!”
Amara blinked. “You what?”
“The one in front! That’s—” She stood up slightly, hand cupped over her eyes. “That’s Commander Vael of the Crimson Spur—my father’s general guard leader!”
The horse slowed to a stop with flying dust. Behind them, the soldiers halted as well, all of them panting from the chase.
One of the guards—the commander himself—stepped forward. A tall man with silver edges in his beard, a flame-stitched cloak, and a face that looked like it had never smiled in its life.
“My lady,” he said breathlessly. “We’ve been tracking you for days. Your father is… deeply concerned. Were you abducted? Did she—” he pointed at Amara, “—take you against your will?”
Saltana blinked. Then gently placed the little girl down onto the cart and folded her arms.
“I don’t believe you,” she said coldly. “He just wants me to marry that jerk—and I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.”
The commander stiffened. “But—my lady—your father—”
“NO,” Saltana snapped. “I’m not going back to that nightmare-in-human form with his greasy hair and his shiny boots and his weird teeth.”
“He’s… he’s called off the wedding,” the commander said carefully. “Lord Vareth said… he regrets forcing your hand. He only wanted to protect your future.”
Saltana’s eyes popped.
“Wait. What?”
“His words, my lady,” Commander Vael said. “You have my honor.”
“You’re not saying this just to trick me into going back, are you?” she suspiciously asked. “Because if I go back and that slimy tooth-polisher is waiting at the altar, I swear I will flip the entire palace.”
Amara finally cut in. “Okay. What the hell is going on here?”
Saltana turned to her sheepishly. “Oh, right! I never… really introduced myself, did I?”
She sat up a little straighter and gave a small wave. “I’m Saltana. Daughter of Chief Vareth, lord of the Eastwind Valley Dominion—it’s a region just southeast of Aru’Shenu. Small but full of passive-aggressive people and peacocks.”
Amara raised a brow. “So… what were you doing in Aru’Shenu?”
Saltana sighed. “I needed someone crazy enough to crash the wedding. So I ran away and started asking random people if they were desperate, morally flexible, or both. Eventually I stumbled into Kaelen’s path and just… improvised from there.”
Amara tilted her head. “Your plan to escape an arranged marriage… was to hire an emotionally unavailable errand boy to start a fake war?”
“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds chaotic.”
“Because it is chaotic.” Amara barked.
Saltana shrugged. “What can I say? Desperation makes an excellent wedding planner.”
Amara groaned and slumped into the saddle. “And your father?”
“Oh, he’s sweet when he’s not threatening to ‘grind your future husband’s bones into ink for your dowry scroll.’ He means well, but if you ever get on his bad side… it’s not just over.”
She leaned closer, whispering like sharing a ghost story.
“It’s spectacularly over. Like, ‘vanish-from-records-and-every-dinner-painting’ over.”
One of the guards—young, sunburnt with sharp eyes—squinted into the horizon and blinked.
“Commander!” He barked loudly with an urgent voice. “We’ve got incoming movement!”
Everyone froze.
Amara turned in her saddle. Saltana shielded her eyes with one hand. The little girl stirred in the cart behind them.
From across the opposite ridge—far, but fast—a cloud of dust rose like something being chased by a storm.
“What is it?” Saltana asked, her voice thin. She leaned forward and squinted hard, but the desert shimmered in waves. “Is it a sandstorm?”
Commander Vael reached down to his hip and unhooked a small brass-cased object—a spyglass. It was engraved with his family crest: a rising hawk over crossed spears. He popped it open with a practiced flick, then lifted it to one eye, adjusting the lens with a steady hand.
“It’s… a rider,” he muttered, focusing harder. “Looks like…”
His brows dipped.
“It’s a woman… she's unconscious and collapsed against a child. They're both on the same horse.”
The wind shifted. The dust trail behind them was erratic, swaying like the rider was barely holding on.
Amara leaned forward. “What color is the horse?”
Vael hesitated, adjusting the spyglass again. “Brown with… faint white stripes. And I can somewhat see an underbelly chestnut.”
Amara’s eyes widened. “That’s—”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
Didn’t wait.
She yanked the straps of the cart free, jumped onto the saddle like a fire had just lit beneath her, and slammed her heel into the horse’s side.
The beast cried out and launched forward like a bolt fired from a war bow.
“Amara—?!” Saltana called out, turning.
- Writer
