The Wind's Call (The Broken Lands #4) - T.A. White Page 0,54

might share certain equine attributes due to his resemblance to them, but he also shared many qualities similar to a human.

That meant she needed to be careful of how she treated him. She disliked being approached without her permission, and if someone tried to touch, they would get a fist in their belly and a knee to some sensitive bits. She could only assume Sebastian had similar hang-ups. It was her job to figure out what that meant for her.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you in any way," she told him, speaking to him as she would if she'd upset Ollie. "I don't know your customs, but I'm willing to learn if you'll teach me."

Her speech was sincere and honest, and she let that radiate from her, putting her intentions into the air between them.

She wasn't too sure how much of her feelings reached him, as he stared at her unmoving, his liquid brown eyes so similar to Caia's.

After an interminable wait, he padded forward, his steps silent, before he dropped his muzzle over Eva's shoulder and rubbed the side of her cheek with his. He blew his breath into her face and then pricked his ears up expectantly.

Moving slowly and giving him time to refuse, she reached up and took his face in her hands, stepping closer to rub her cheek against his. Next she blew lightly toward his nostrils, letting him get acquainted with her scent, before stepping back.

Sebastian bobbed his head up and down in a nod while letting out a pleased nicker.

Eva couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "Well, look at that, we're getting somewhere."

As she patted Sebastian, she let her attention wander around the campsite, interested in who this group of people were. If they were going to be traveling together, it behooved her to understand their dynamic.

The level of separation between the different groups surprised her. Ollie, Jason and those in other support roles congregated in one area while Darius's warriors were in another. There was an ease and familiarity as the two groups shifted back and forth, talking and laughing before retreating to their own side.

The five throwaways were the only dark spot. Their group quiet and reserved. They kept to themselves, their faces going cold and resentful any time one of the Trateri strayed too close.

The meal she could see them eating was unappetizing at best. It lacked the fresh meat from the game one of the warriors had brought down.

They weren't even trying to fit in. Eva knew if they asked, the warriors would let them hunt for food. The Trateri were strict, but they weren't cruel. As long as none of the throwaways tried to run or sabotage the group or camp, they would be treated with respect.

Maybe they thought there was a way home, a path back to the way things used to be. It might be what was keeping them locked in their own little world. It was a delusional outlook, but perhaps it was one they clung to.

There was no going back. The box had been opened; the possibilities realized. Even if the Trateri failed, some other group would eventually rise to take their place.

She wondered if any of the men sitting in that circle realized that.

Eva's gaze wandered lazily over the rest of those assembled, catching on Caden's enigmatic expression where he watched her with an intensity that made her skin itch. She couldn't say what it was about the commander that so rubbed her wrong, but every time she caught him watching her, she wanted to rattle his cage or do something unexpected, even as her instincts urged her to run far away and hide.

It was flummoxing. Frustrating. She was confident and secure in who she was, and he threatened all that.

He glanced at the throwaways and something shifted in his expression. He went from simply watching to planning.

Something would need to be done about them, Eva knew.

Her stomach rumbled. Besides the trail food Ollie had tossed into the wagon before they'd left, Eva hadn't eaten in hours. She hesitated, pulled between the two groups. One representing her past and the other her present.

She should talk to the throwaways, she decided. She needed to feel them out to see how big a problem they'd be.

Not all Lowlanders were painted with the same brush, she reminded herself. Some were sensible. Take her for instance. If she judged them without getting to know them, how was she any better than those who did the