the LEGEND of She-Cat

Chapter Seven

I came to with the sun beating down on my head, an odd, rocking sensation beneath me. Cracking open an eye, the bright sunlight was blinding. Moaning softly, I flinched, closing my eye again, a steady throb in my temples. Memories came back with a rush. Managing to sit up, I reopened my eyes but kept them slits. I was riding the mare, having been leaning against the horse's neck. On the gelding out in front of me, the tall, lean form of the white rider rode easy and loose in the saddle. With a flare of anger, I tried to lift my hands but felt the bite of rope.

Surprised, I saw the cord tied securely about my wrists, the knot tight and looped through my hands and winding up around the mare's neck. When I tugged wearily at the rope, the mare flicked her ears backward but kept walking. Lips twisting in thought, my gaze went down as I moved my legs, startled to find my ankles loosely tied, a rope swinging beneath the mare's belly. Not only could I not use my arms, but I also would not be able to get off the horse without the white man's help. Resentment and fear built up in me as I tried to wiggle free, but the knots were secure and soon I gave up, raw thirst consuming my thoughts. The pouches were tied to the man's saddle, and I could hear the water sloshing inside. It made my throat ache.

Wanting to call out, to get his attention, I just could not force myself to do it. The bitter memory of begging him once was still a sour taste in my mouth. I would not beg him again, no matter how thirsty I got! The white rider seemed to sense my eyes on him and without stopping, shifted to glance over his shoulder. Flat aster blue eyes met my dark ones. The cobalt points beneath his brows were cool, indifferent. After a glance at my wrists to make sure they were tied, he faced about again and pointedly ignored me until we stopped some long miles later.

He led us to an oasis at the edge of the endless sand, stepping easily from the saddle when we reached it before turning to face me. I sat silent and angry on the mare, glaring at him. My fingers itched with the desire to strike him for treating me this way, but his expression was unforgiving, so I forced myself to relax. Tied as I was, there was little hope of a successful escape. We were at the edge of the vast desert, where the steep slope of sand leveled out to reveal the sparkling expanse of a small lake surrounded by grass. Lining the one side of the lake were the tall, narrow, multiple branched desert willows covered in bell-shaped blooms. The flowers ranged from violet to white, and dotted the green trees, throwing color into the heat of the summer evening. It was obvious he had decided this would be a good place to stop for the night.

Warily I watched him approach, stiffening when he reached the mare's head. Instead of reaching for my bonds, he took the hemp lead, walking the horse into the shade. Removing the bridle from the mare and dropping it, he rubbed the horse's face in his hands, his long fingers sweeping along her muzzle and neck. She half-closed her eyes and reached her face toward him, a soft sigh blowing from her nostrils. After a moment he turned from the horse, and completely ignoring me stripped his gear from the gelding, rubbing the steel dust down with a handful of dried grass. I could hear his voice then, watching as he spoke quietly to his mount.

In irritation I flexed the muscles in my arms, tugging at the knots but they were held fast and did not budge. I looked over at the rider, glaring in unabashed anger, but he acted as though he had forgotten my existence. With care, he stripped from his torn shirt and I saw the dark purple ring at the base of his neck where my teeth had caught his flesh. As he turned to reach into his saddlebags, long, red, swollen welts came into view on his back, looking like claw marks. There were a dozen across the back of his shoulders and I felt a swell of satisfaction but it quickly faded. He could have killed me, I thought, but yet here I am, alive, and relatively unharmed. What would he do?

As if he'd heard my thoughts the white man turned, fixing me with a penetrating look of cold irritation. With deliberate moves he washed his wounds, rinsing them with clean water. He finished and stood, looking at me for a long moment. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he apparently decided to take no action right away. Instead, he turned and moved toward the beckoning waters of the lake. Unashamed I did not look away when he shed his worn and dusty clothes at the water's edge, watching in bitter resentment as he plunged in swimming smoothly and easily out into the water.