21. Tark
Chapter 21
Tark
I left because of Gracie’s redness. If I’d stayed around, I would’ve added to it. Ground away at her until she was so covered in redness, it would never fade. So when Dungar stopped by and mentioned he was going to send one of my brothers on the newly cut trail to make sure the distance between rest stops wouldn’t be too far for our customers, plus start building covered awnings where we could set up cots and chairs for our guests to rest in relative slumber, I volunteered to go in his stead.
I was doing it for Gracie.
She’d thank me later.
Two days later and with tired, achy bones, I rode back to town with Sharga bobbing on my shoulder. I stopped at my ranch and got cleaned up, giving Podar lots of pats and a promise of more squishes later. Dungar had stopped by to feed him, but he never gave my pet as much love as me.
Dressed in my chaps over my jeans, a clean vest in a black and white cowhide pattern, and with my cowboy hat square on my head, I started toward town and my mate. I dreamed of what I could make for her for dinner. While I was away, I thought of the tricks cowboys did in streaming images to woo a mate, and Gracie would be impressed with what I had planned for her.
Surely her redness had faded. Surely she’d be happy to see me and might even let me give her some redness again.
I was only partway to town when I heard her scream.
Sharga flapped his wings and pecked my cheek as if he thought I hadn’t heard the call of distress.
The thought that my mate—my Gracie —being harmed was enough to make lightning burst through the top of my head.
I kicked Castree in the sides, urging her to gallop in that direction. Sharga squawked and flapped his wings, and I was tempted to tell him to fly home or at least leave my shoulder.
Then I spied the chumble off to my left, shrieking with her wings flared.
A clutch of babies cooed in a tumble off to her side. Sorhoxes grazes beyond her, the herd’s bull watching the chumble with much-too intent eyes.
The chumble was attacking my Gracie.
With a hoarse bellow, I leaped off Castree and snarling, rushed toward my mate, determined to rip the chumble to pieces with my bare hands if need be.
As I got close, I lowered my head and drove forward like a… Well, a sorhox. Before I reached her, the creature let out a shrill whistle, stumbled backward, and went scrambling across the dirt, her wings flapping wildly. It was nearly impossible to hurt one; their scaly hide deflected even the blow of a sword, but I would’ve done all I could to drive her away.
She flared her feathers, her beady black eyes flickering with fear, but that was just show. She’d back down if I raced toward her again. My gaze darted to the tumble of chumble babies nearby, cooing and huddled tight. She was doing what any mother should, protecting her young. But I would not let her put a claw on Gracie.
The sorhox’s low rumble shook the ground, drawing my attention his way. His massive hooves clawed at the dirt, and his horns dangled close to the earth as he squared off, glaring in my direction.
Normally, I’d bluster right back at him, and he’d probably back down, but I didn’t dare risk Gracie.
Time wasn’t working in my favor. I scooped her up like she weighed no more than one of Podar’s squeaky toys. She clung to me, her nails digging into my chest, her breath hot and frantic against my neck.
A cluster of boulders up ahead caught my eye, the only thing resembling cover. With Sharga flapping and squawking in the air behind me, I sprinted, leaping onto the first rock like I had springs for legs. The chumble’s whistle rose. Damn, she was angry. I skidded onto the top of the boulders as she reached the base, beating her wings against the rocks while her claws scrabbled for purchase on the rough surface.
“Hold tight,” I muttered to Gracie, though I doubted she heard me. She was making her own squawking noises, muffled by how tightly she was pressing her face into my chest.
Sharga didn't make it any easier, landing on my shoulder and swatting me upside the head with his wings. Adding to the uproar, the sorhox bull barreled over, circling the rock pile with dust flying in his wake. Every snort and scrape of his hooves sounded like an explosion, overwhelming the ringing in my ears.
The chumble had made it partway up the pile now, her talons gaining ground with every frantic step. Her black eyes locked on me. The sorhox below clawed and shoved at the rocks, his bulk shaking the cluster.
Heat rushed through me. Not fear, but anger, the kind that twisted in my chest when anyone threatened what was mine.
I tipped my head back, and a roar so deep it made my own ears pop erupted up my throat.
Everything stopped.
The chumble froze, her claws extending toward us, her head cocking to the side. The sorhox halted mid-charge, his nostrils flaring, his horns carving the air. He glared like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to keep butting the boulders or turn and scramble in the opposite direction.
A tiny coo broke the silence. One of the chumble’s babies had toddled from the tumble and was peeping at its mother. The mama chumble snapped her head toward the sound, her body stiffening. She let go of the rocks, ignoring us as she dropped to the ground. With her wings tucked to her sides, she raced toward her young.
When she reached it, she herded it toward the rest of the tumble with her beak, then roused her babies with frantic nudges. While they squawked and peeped, she ushered them across the plain at a brisk clip, kicking up dust. One last whistle floated in the air before she entered the deep grass near the pasture, her tumble in a neat single-file line behind her.
That left the sorhox.
Its dark eyes locked on mine as I shifted Gracie in my arms. She clung to me, silent now except for the occasional shaky breath against the side of my neck. Sharga, perhaps sensing that one wrong move could send us sprawling, perched motionless for once, his claws digging into my vest with a stability unusual for a bird with his sass.
The sorhox pawed at the ground, snorting as its enormous head lowered again. He was clearly reluctant to give up his position as the beastliest thing on this side of the plain. He circled the cluster of rocks, his muscles rippling under his thick hide as he tested me, each side-eyed glance a taunt. Enough was enough.
I bent, easing Gracie to sit on the largest, flattest boulder I could find at the top. The moment she felt steady, and her arms had slackened their grip from around my neck, I jerked my hat tighter on my head and tipped my chin her way.
“Stay put. I’ll handle this, little lady.” Exactly what a true cowboy would say. My voice sounded calmer than I felt, but there wasn’t time to think about that.
Gracie’s eyes widened, but she didn’t argue. For a second, I wanted to lean down and kiss her, but a snort jerked my focus back to where the bull was still pawing long furrows in the dirt, marking how serious he was about making my life a challenge.
I leaped.
The air rushed past me as my boots hit the beast’s shoulders behind its horns, my feet sliding down as I locked my knees around his body. He bucked right away, his guttural bellows and smoldering huffs shooting across the plain. Sharga squawked somewhere above. He'd known better than to come along for this ride.
The sorhox twisted, lurching left and right. His muscles tensed and coiled beneath me as he spun and darted around, determined to knock me off.
I held on, gripping with my thighs and a hand wrapped around the base of one horn, the other in the air like cowboys do. The bull flung his massive head upward in protest. I growled low in my throat. The bull tried to buck me off again, kicking out and spinning, his back legs lifting so high he could’ve thrown me all the way to the next town.
I stayed on, clinging to his spine.
Seconds stretched into a battle of who’d outlast the other. Dirt sprayed and rocks clattered around us. When the bull's sides started to tremble and his lungs fumed, hot and shallow and with barely any more smoke chuffing from his nostrils, I dropped my head close to his ear.
“Give up?” I snapped.
The sorhox let out one last snort, jerking his head like he wanted to argue. His steps slowed to a tired shuffle, and the fight drained out of him in one whoosh.
I jumped to the ground, patting the beast's side like I'd seen wild west cowboys do with a cranky old horse. “On your way, now. Back to the sorhox ladies.”
With a grunt of irritation that sounded more tired than anything else, the beast trotted toward the pasture and the others staring in this direction as if they'd watched a show. The bull didn’t glance back at me.
Turning, I looked up to where Gracie still perched on the boulder, her hunched figure standing out against the wide blue sky behind her. She wasn’t shaking anymore, but her eyes were as big as Castree’s.
I strode over to the boulder cluster, standing as close to my mate as I could get without leaping up to join her.
I held out my arms.
“I'm home, little lady,” I said, doing my best imitation of a true wild west male. “Come give your big ole cowboy a kiss.”