“Talu was in heat and, bitch of a fanged mare that she was, she kicked at the gelding when he walked behind her, though Calimir was as gentle and courteous as he was beautiful. So the mare and I brought up the rear. A hot wind was blowing down from the mountains, as hot as the mare’s temper, and I knew it could go on for days, sapping our strength. Witch winds, we hunters called such hot and relentless winds out of the west, and they were enough to make lifelong friends come to blows—the Herders... said they made the sheep abort their lambs. But I did not tell the others this, letting them hope that it would quickly abate. Soon enough, in a day or two, they would be downhearted. As it turned out, sooner than I knew. We came to the last ridge, lower than the true peaks, and climbed to a rocky pass. Up on the alps we had been most of the time above cloud, but from this lower nagsback we could see the world spread out before us like a cloak trailing from the shoulders of the mountains, and the cloak was sand-brown and pebble-gray and patched with the dull green of blunderbrush—we hunters called it that because woe to the one who blundered into it, he would be bloody from brown thorns.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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