Made of the West - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - The Water Horse

Ash scraped a few loose strands of her long red hair back from her face as she kneeled to fill her water skin. She should have searched for longer and found a running stream, but time was short and the still loch would have to do. Dirty water was better than no water at all.

The skin filled slowly as she bent to drink and wash her face before looking around at the barren landscape, which was far too exposed for her liking. She was vulnerable, and would have to be more careful in future. The sun had just slipped behind the hills, shades of night drawing in. Rowan would begin to wonder if she was coming home. She rocked back on her heels and sighed; foraging for food would have to wait until tomorrow. She could perhaps take the rowboat out to fish, although her father had expressly forbade her from trying to launch it by herself, as the craft was temperamental at best. 

Ash and her sister had waited as long as they could in the safety of their cottage, but the water had run out yesterday and Rowan was weakening from the unseasonable heat. Their thirst was aggravated by the whisper of the waves on the shore, knowing there was water nearby but being unable to drink it. Little Rowan had wept as loudly as she dared several times, more from fear than hunger or thirst, and Ash had struggled not to follow her lead. Time was running out for the girls.

Movement caught the corner of her eye on the far surface of the loch. Ripples were spreading from something disturbing the water. As the something rose from the deep its form grew more apparent. She squinted in the dim light and could identify ears, a sleek muzzle and a long streamlined neck. She wondered if it was stuck in the mire on the bed of the loch, but as it paused for a moment and began to glide towards her she realised it was not so. As the something swam closer she could see its form more clearly, it looked like a horse, but without saddle or rider. Ash knew it was odd but she couldn’t look away, a strange fascination and desire to be close to the horse was growing. In the back of her mind she knew there was something wrong with the fluid movement, so unlike the bucking swim of the semi-wild horses she and her sister had rode in the surf last summer. Its velvet eyes seemed to dispel her fear. She felt her mind growing more and more tranquil, the worries of vital things like Rowan and the lack of water seemed to wash from her thoughts despite the distinctly predatory movement of the creature. It didn’t take long for the horse to move within an arm’s reach, and she stretched out over the water to touch the glistening muzzle, hovering on the balls of her feet.

 There was a whirling noise before a large stone whizzed over her shoulder and hit the creature dead in the chest. Ash pulled her hand back sharply as the horse screamed its hellish displeasure and with a snap of pointed teeth and flash of scaly limbs it was gone. She unsteadily got to her feet and wheeled around, certain she was going to meet her end momentarily. She wasn’t sure if the sight that greeted her was better than the water horse. The stranger was taller than her and had dark hair that shadowed his face. To his side was an enormous grey Sighthound, which stood stiff-legged and growling at her. He had another stone loaded in the cloth slingshot and was poised ready to strike again.  He addressed her in a quiet voice full of authority.

 “Move away from the water.”

Ash was in no position to disobey; she quickly stepped into the heather, which unfortunately meant moving closer to him and the hound. She had expected the slingshot to follow her movement, but he stayed trained on the loch’s edge until she was at a safe distance. The Sighthound too kept its attention on the water, giving her time to look over the pair properly. He was a similar height to her father and although he wore loose-fitting clothes, he looked slim. He had dark hair, some of which was tied back from his face, and the beginnings of a beard. He had been living outside for a long time judging by his weather-beaten skin, and she had a growing suspicion that he was younger than he looked. Only when he was satisfied she was far enough from the water did he relax the tension in his body and let the stone fall to the ground. He turned to speak to her again. With his eyes on her, she noticed that while the irises of both were an intense frosty blue, the right was severely bloodshot, so much that it looked painful. She hastily dropped her gaze.

“What was that?” She said the first thing she could think of to break the silence.”

“A kelpie; you really should be more careful in future Ash.” She was taken aback by the mention of her name, enough to forget the creature that had just attacked her. Who was this stranger and how did he know who she was? For once Ash was at a loss for words. He took her silence as affirmative, and continued. “Your father has been delayed. Six days ago he found me and asked me to see that you and Rowan were safe. Luckily I found you in time.”

Ash felt a wave of relief spread through her body. Help at last! But after the incident with the water horse she was feeling less than trusting. Her still-pounding heart told her not to question the helpful stranger but her head was regaining control. “Why should I bring you back to our home, to my younger sister? I don’t know who you are.”

He smirked, but with no trace of amusement, merely dry humour. “Good, you’re learning. I knew you’d doubt me, at least you would if you had any sense, so I asked your father to give me something you would recognise.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a small object. Ash edged forward warily to look. It was a small carved fish, made out of a kind of wood she wasn’t familiar with. Her father was a skilled carver, and often made model animals and birds to pass the long evenings. Ash and Rowan both had a near identical fish to the one in his hand beside their bed. While it was wonderful to see the first trace of her father in nearly two weeks, the strange wood showed he was indeed far from home. There were few trees on the coast, and at home her father would use driftwood, usually oak from shipwrecks that washed up on the beach.

“How do I know you didn’t kill him and take it, or make it yourself?” She was still on edge, but enough mettle remained to further question the potentially dangerous man.

“Well, you don’t for certain, but I’m offering my help, so will you accept it?”

Ash paused for a moment. While he looked far from trustworthy, his answers rang with truth. She was desperate enough to believe him. What other choice did she have? If she said no he might kill her, and find Rowan anyway.

“What’s your name?”

“Tor.”

Despite his harsh countenance there was a hint of genuine concern in his eyes. Ash thought of Rowan crying for water alone in the cottage and decided to take her chances with the stranger.