by Cheryl Dyson
******
Morning dawned clear and cool and they packed their gear for Alyn to fasten to the horses. Much of the lion meat they had strapped to the young grey stud, who snorted nervously at the scent, but did nothing except roll his eyes and prance a bit.
Alyn moaned again. "It’s unnatural, I tell you. There is not a horse alive who will willingly pack lion meat unless they have been very well trained. These did not shy once, not even Fireling, and I know he is not well trained. What is wrong with them?"
"Will you stop whimpering and get moving?" Toryn growled.
Alyn sneered at him, but made no reply as the three of them mounted and resumed their southward bearing. Brydon kept an eye on Toryn and called a halt whenever the Redolian seemed to lag. Toryn’s wound opened a couple of times, but they kept it clean with water from the skins and rinsed the bandages before rewrapping them. Brydon planned to treat his own injury again when they stopped for the evening, enlisting Alyn’s help. He would rather not let Toryn know he was wounded, just to be safe.
Alyn sprawled out and fell asleep shortly after eating, so instead Brydon wandered away and took a quick bath in the stream they camped near. He sponged his wounds as best he could while craning his head to peer unsuccessfully at his back. The water was too cold and shallow to swim in, so he settled for wading in and splashing until he was wet enough to peel the vest from his blood-crusted back. He washed his vest thoroughly and put it back on, foregoing a shirt. Wool would have been too rough and painful against the cuts.
"Are you bathing again?" Toryn yelled from where he had been finishing off his meal. They could not see each other through the thick bushes full of yellow flowers.
"You should try it!" Brydon returned. "It might cause Alyn to think more favorably of you."
"She already likes me. Splashing in a cold pond will make no difference."
Brydon laughed. "If you say so."
On the third day after they had left the clearing, Toryn seemed much stronger. Brydon felt nauseous and contributed it to the thought of eating lion meat again. They were all heartily sick of it and though they had cooked the majority of the meat, they would soon have to dump the rest or risk being poisoned by spoilage.
Brydon was awakened on the fourth morning by Alyn nudging him in the ribs with her toe, none too gently. "Come on, Falaran. The sun is up. Are you going to sleep the whole day away?" Brydon’s head felt foggy. He wanted to sleep the day away. The black stallion, which he had named Darkling in mockery of Alyn’s steed, nuzzled his forehead.
"I’m up!" he snapped. He waved the horse away and heaved himself up before staggering to the stream for a drink. He could not bring himself to eat anything at all—the thought of food made him queasy. By mid-afternoon, he felt lightheaded.
"Such hot day," he said. "Is it always so warm here?"
"Perhaps, to a Falaran," Alyn said and shrugged.
"It’s finally a comfortable temperature and you start complaining?" Toryn looked at Brydon. "You must have ice water for blood."
"I wish I did. Maybe I would feel cooler."
Brydon watched the trees go by as they rode. The forest seemed to grow indistinct. Brydon barely noticed when the others pulled ahead and Darkling turned his head to look back at him. The foliage began to melt into a lovely mixture of blue and green that Brydon found that strangely fascinating. Each time he turned his head quickly, the colors blurred and raced together. He shook his head to enhance the vision and nearly toppled from the horse.
Brydon wrapped his arms around Darkling’s neck and buried his face in the thick black mane. The near accident struck him as funny and he chuckled as he tried to right himself. Toryn and Alyn had both ridden back and now gaped at him.
"What are you doing?" Alyn demanded. "Have you been chewing on larec weed?"
Brydon broke into a round of chuckles that nearly caused him to slide off the stallion again.
"I think his brain has been baked. I wonder if he has wine stashed in that pack of his." Toryn snorted. "If so, he’d better stop hoarding it to himself."
They rode on and Brydon straightened and followed. Occasional bursts of laughter shook his shoulders.
"It is damned hot here!"
There was not a drop of sweat on him.