Chapter 5 #2
I glanced at him, expecting pity, but his expression held something deeper. The lines around his eyes had softened, and his mouth was set in a thoughtful line rather than its usual stern press.
“Orcs raise younglings differently,” he finally said.
“The whole community participates. My parents…” He paused, navigating Peeka around a fallen log.
“They celebrated each milestone. Each achievement. My father taught me to track, to hunt. My mother showed me how to care for sorhoxes and how to prepare our favorite foods. Every youngling is considered a gift.”
He held my gaze across the space between our mounts. “I’m sorry yours died. Sorry you weren’t raised by people who could love you for who you were, not who they wanted you to be.”
The simple honesty in his words made my throat tighten. I looked away, embarrassed by my oversharing, focusing instead on a cardinal that flashed red in the underbrush.
“It was a long time ago.” I already regretted bringing up personal history. The last thing I wanted was his pity. “Tell me about Christmas in Lonesome Creek. Will the rodeo operation contribute?”
He allowed the change of subject, though his eyes held a new awareness I couldn’t decipher. The forest thinned slightly, allowing more light to filter through the canopy above.
“I’m not sure yet. I’d be curious to hear your suggestions.” He ducked beneath a low-hanging branch dusted with snow, straightening after.
“Will there be a parade? You could include costumed sorhoxes,” I said, my professional mode engaging like armor to hide behind. “And maybe an old-time photo booth with sorhox-themed props.”
“Hmm.” The sound wasn’t dismissive, but considering.
“Azool would be perfect for a meet-the-sorhox children’s event. People love baby animals, and most have never seen a sorhox up close, let alone such a small one.”
Dester navigated around a rocky outcropping, his movements so smooth I barely had to adjust my balance. The leather of the saddle creaked with each step.
“You’ve given this thought.” Becken’s voice held a note of surprise.
“I’m used to it.” Without much of a life of my own, it was natural to think about my job during off hours.
“You’re an expert on something you’ve never experienced?” A hint of amusement colored his voice.
“I observe. Research. Adapt.” I smiled, remembering the countless festival proposals I’d created over the years. “That’s what consultants do.”
I ducked under a low-hanging branch, pine needles brushing across my back. “I’ve never experienced a small-town holiday festival myself. My aunt and uncle preferred exclusive holiday parties, and I wasn’t invited to those.”
Remain in your room, they’d say. We’ll share some of the leftover treats tomorrow.
He frowned before his face smoothed, and I reminded myself not to share anything more. No one wanted to hear my childhood sob story.
The trail narrowed, though we could still ride side by side, our legs occasionally brushing. I was acutely aware of his presence, from the breadth of his shoulders to the confident way he sat on Peeka’s back.
“We’re planning a starlight ride on Christmas Eve.” Becken guided Peeka around a branch sticking out into the trail. “We build sleighs.”
“Then the snow will come in handy. It sounds magical.” The image of sorhoxes adorned for the holidays, moving beneath a starlit sky, sent a shiver of anticipation through me. “What kind of decorations do you think you’ll use with the sorhoxes?”
“Ribbons. Metal bells. Woven leather with sigils for protection and good fortune.” His voice took on a softer quality. “In the orc kingdom, decorated sorhoxes carry messages between clans during winter celebrations.”
We crested a small rise, and the forest opened to reveal a stunning view of the valley below.
Lonesome Creek sat nestled in the middle of the valley, smoke rising from chimneys in thin gray ribbons.
I could barely make out people moving along the main street, and even from this distance, I could see the Christmas decorations sparkling on the storefronts.
The town looked like a scene from a Christmas card.
We sat there, staring at the beauty around us.
When I turned to comment on something, I found him watching me instead of the scenery. Something in his expression made my pulse quicken, an intensity that hadn’t been there before. A snowflake landed on his dark eyelashes and clung for a heartbeat before melting.
He looked away first. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” I was grateful for the break in whatever had just passed between us.
We dismounted in a small clearing protected from the snow by a dense canopy of pine boughs.
Becken helped me down, his hands firm on my waist, and I was surprised to find my legs steady beneath me when I landed on the ground.
The forest floor was carpeted with fallen pine needles that released their scent with each step, and patches of snow sparkled like diamonds.
He spread a blanket on a fallen log for us to sit and unpacked the food—thick sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper, shiny red apples, and thermoses of hot tea.
“Holly’s special recipe.” He handed me a sandwich. “Ashenbird, which tastes a bit like turkey, with cheese and spices from the orc kingdom.”
The flavors were rich and unfamiliar, but delicious. Smoky and slightly sweet, with a hint of heat that warmed me from the inside. We ate; the sorhoxes grazing nearby on winter grass.
“Where did you learn about rodeo management?” Becken asked as we finished our lunch.
“I got a college internship at a ranch in Wyoming, where I discovered I had a knack for logistics and program development.” I helped fold the blanket. “When you understand what works and what doesn’t, you can adapt them to any situation.”
“Even sorhoxes?”
“Even sorhoxes.” I smiled, meeting his gaze. “The principles are universal. Safety, engagement, authentic experience. The specifics change, but the foundations don’t.”
He nodded, satisfied with my answer. “Ready to continue?”
We remounted and followed the trail deeper into the forest. The path narrowed, forcing us to ride single file, with Dester leading.
The comfortable silence stretched between us, broken only by the sounds of the forest. A woodpecker drummed on a tree in the distance, and the wind whispered through pine boughs.
Becken pointed out landmarks with orc names I couldn’t pronounce, the harsh consonants and flowing vowels of his native language contrasting with the soft sounds of the forest.
The temperature dropped as we ventured deeper into the woods, and I pulled up my hood, tying it beneath my chin. Dester’s body heat provided some warmth, but not enough to keep me toasty warm.
I was contemplating how to incorporate some orc traditions into the rodeo program when a flash of pink movement on my right caught my eye.
Dester tensed, spotting it before I registered what was happening.
A pink scaled creature with a body resembling an oversized ostrich burst from the bushes lining the right side of the trail.
Its large, yellow gaze pinned on me. Before I could process the bizarre sight, the creature let out a piercing shriek that echoed through the trees.
Dester spooked beneath me, his body jerking. I grabbed for the reins, but it was too late. He bolted down the trail, running at full speed past the strange creature. The world blurred around me as I clung to the saddle horn.
“Pull back on the reins.” Becken’s voice sounded distant behind me. “Dester. Stop!”
I tried to follow his instructions, but the sorhox was beyond listening, his powerful legs carrying me deeper into the forest at a terrifying pace. The bitter air stung my eyes, making them water, and trees whipped past in a dizzying blur.
Thundering hoofbeats followed, Peeka in pursuit, but Dester showed no signs of slowing. Each jarring step threatened to send me flying off his back. A fall at this speed would be disastrous.
Dester careened around a bend in the trail, and I prayed I’d survive my first sorhox ride.