lavendara

Ceilawynn's mare, Mouse, had fallen during a desperate pursuit. The mare had been shot. Stumbled, but still managed to carry her mistress at break-neck pace, forward, until Tarsorel could grab the girl and pull her onto his horse before Mouse buckled and fell  behind.

The chase was too sensational for the small deed of the mare to be noticed, but Ryheric knew horses. When the story was told to him by the girl in tears, Ryheric knew Mouse had been a hero.

Winnie sat there, looking at Tarsorel. He wanted to help her get better with being able to be touched and touch, not related to healing. She had spent a long time outlining the problem and how Ryheric had helped her so far. How Silver and Lavendara were helping her be more comfortable with touch. She thought on this, how strange it would seem to an outsider. Being able to be jostled, patted on the shoulder, playful swats or jumps where touch might occur, even comfort at involves touching. It was all she longed for.

When he woke from the fever there was strange looking healing equipment hanging off him. Winnie looked exhausted, Tarsorel had recovered somewhere nearby, Lavendara was crying, Silver looked weak, but they all seemed glad. Terrified and glad.

He had sand in his mouth. The feeling was memorable, jarring violet, brown and dark grey. The three mixed to create a hideous colour. It had sickened him the first time it happened. The same sort of retching feeling as nails on a chalkboard to some. Distinctive and repulsive. He was twelve back then, had fallen off the bottom of a wagon, and had never seen sand like this, out here in the dunes.