Chimera Awakened

Chapter One

Perhaps I made a mistake. The thought crossed my mind for the dozenth time today as I continued to follow the hoof prints in the snow. Plenty of people told me to have this damned stallion gelded but I refused to listen. He was a true beauty with his long powerful legs, glistening black coat, thick neck and the proud set of his head. Yes, maybe I should have gelded Alastor but something about him called to me. He was temperamental, proud, obstinate and I loved him dearly.

Stopping, I pulled out my canteen and drank deeply. I looked around at the pines mingling with leafless oaks, maples, ash and other trees I couldn't identify. What had drawn Alastor out here, miles from home, I didn't know. He usually made his way to the mares and was easy enough to retrieve but today he wanted to run. The distance between his prints in the pure white snow told me he was at a full gallop.

"You damn beautiful bastard," I muttered and trudged onward.

Hair escaped my braid and I pushed it back into place, muttering under my breath as I continued my hunt. My mood softened slightly as the loose strands of hair brought forth a memory of my mother. She always told me I had been born with two souls because most of my hair was just shy of pure white, with strands of deep black scattered throughout. Her lips would curve into a delicate smile every time she brushed it and worked it into a braid.

From what I heard growing up, no one had seen hair quite like mine before. Then, of course, there were my eyes. The left was a rich golden brown while the right was a pale green. The fact that other people with two different colored eyes existed did nothing to assuage my discomfort or keep kids from bullying me when I was younger. Now at nearly twenty-five, their jeering voices dimmed - along with my late mother's.

Alastor's prints faltered as they drew closer together and I knew he had slowed down to a walk here. I taught myself how to track animals at a young age for no real reason other than I liked to watch and feel them. The way they lived and moved when they thought no one was watching always intrigued me. It was like a story they had written without knowing anyone would bother to read it.

A soft whinnie jolted me out of my thoughts and I snapped my head up to see Alastor about five yards away, neck outstretched and cautiously sniffing a man's knuckled hand. I stiffened, hand instinctively moving to my hip where the dagger I always took on hikes through the woods was strapped. I was a small woman, only a couple inches over five feet, willow thin with muscles more in tune with horse training and farm labor than fighting.

The man turned his head to look at me, hand still held out to the stallion, as his eyes roamed over me and landed on where my hand rested on the hilt of my dagger. Recognition sparked in his eyes and, although he did look familiar, I couldn't place him. Even from this distance, I could see that his head would rise well above Alastor's back. Impressive, considering the stallion was roughly eighteen hands.

"Good afternoon," he said in a deep voice that was tinged with amusement.

The man could see I was unnerved and he was amused. No doubt he could see my body was braced for an altercation and apparently the thought of me fighting was entertaining to him.

I lifted my chin a notch higher. "You found my horse."

His black eyebrows shot up and disappeared beneath the equally black hair that fell over his forehead.

"I never imagined you as the stallion type." He dropped his hand when Alastor pulled his head back and huffed.

My teeth ground together at the insult. I could handle being teased for my hair, my eyes, my nearly boyish body and odd pastime of tracking animals but not this. I was a well respected horse trainer. My late father was equally respected in the horse world and he had taught me well. An insult to me was an insult to him.