Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,96
even inside her head, he was back with the water skin. She drank, the liquid reviving her a little.
She took some gasping breaths before drinking more, then resting against his hard chest. “Like this,” she said softly.
A strange choking noise came from his throat. “You were not here when I returned. I thought you had ridden the horse somewhere safer, but there were no tracks.”
“I cannot ride a horse.”
“You will learn.”
She just thought she might. “You will teach me.”
“Aye. No other.”
“I like your horse. He stayed silent.”
“I’m sure he likes you, too.” The indulgence in her mate’s tone was a great improvement over the coldness of the day before.
He didn’t like secrets. That had become very clear to her.
“I can put up a shield that none can see through and even mask the scents behind it, but I cannot hide sound.”
“What kind of magic is this?” he asked with no little awe.
It brought a weak smile to her face. “It is the gift bestowed on me by the Clach Gealach Gra on my coming of age.”
“’Tis amazing.”
“But tiring when used on such a grand scale. Your horse is not small.” And she had needed to hold the shielding image all around them—she looked at the sky—for nearly an hour this time.
“You could have taken the stone and hidden in a tree.”
“But whatever predator caused you to go seeking in your wolf’s form might well have come after the horse.”
“I do not know what I sought, but I found nothing. No signs or scents to track.”
“Why did you leave?”
“My wolf warned of danger.”
“A Faol’s instincts are true.”
“Aye.”
“We should move on.”
“Aye.”
This time she rode settled on his lap and napped against him, trusting her safety completely to his strength. It was an entirely new experience for her, as she recovered from her efforts to protect herself and his horse beside the stream.
She was not surprised when they did not stop to eat and rest again as the hours wore on. Barr continued to push through, encouraging her to eat the apple he pulled from the horse’s pack. Taking one for himself as well.
No doubt they would travel as far as possible this day.
However, eventually, they stopped near a small, clear loch fed by a stream from the north.
“We will make camp here,” he told her as she stretched, trying to get her walking legs again after the longer ride.
The summer days were at their longest and she protested. “But it will not be dark for hours yet.”
“It is a more defensible position.” He indicated a small cave entrance not far away.
“You believe we are being followed?”
“My wolf says yes.”
She nodded, not doubting his Faol nature. There was a reason they made such formidable enemies.
“So, why the sacred springs?” he asked as they shared another cold repast, each sitting against the base of a tree and facing the other.
She would rather be sitting against him, but he was once again unapproachable. “What do you mean?”
“Why not take the stone directly to your people? Traveling to the sacred springs for your Chrechte rituals must carry great risk of discovery.”
“We travel in our bird forms. Despite Muin’s zealous adherence to his grandfather’s teaching, few simply shoot birds from the sky as a matter of course. Especially those among the clans to the farthest north.”
“Still, it is a risk.”
“Yes. There is ancient Chrechte power in the caves, though such a place is worth some days’ travel.”
“You do not have caves like them in your part of the forest?” he asked.
“None that resonate with millennia of Chrechte rituals and matings.” Her grandmother claimed no other place would so benefit their people when the sacred rites were performed.
“The old Chrechte ways are very important to the Éan, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” As their numbers diminished under the attack of their Chrechte brethren, their ancient ways were what kept them going.
Barr ate for some moments in silence and then asked, “What happens once you return the stone?”
“I return to my people and tell them I was successful on my quest.”
“We go to the Éan together.”
“Yes.” Part of her actually looked forward to him meeting her grandmother, though she was worried how the others would respond to him because of his wolf nature.
“Anya-Gra prophesied as a young girl that the wolves would join the fight to save the Éan.” Her grandmother had told Sabrine about the prophesy when she came of age. “I did not believe her.”
“I have no difficulty believing that.” His sarcasm was not lost on her.
She frowned. “You blame