Chapter 4

I didn't know how to interact with this man – he was so intense. So wild. I decided to flee the scene and refill the waterskins.

"Natalya," it sounded exotic when he said it. I stopped and turned to look at him.

"Can I have my clothes back?" he asked. I nodded, fetched them and then went to the stream, taking Fizzy with me. While I was re-bandaging my foot on the bank Fizzy snorted at me, misting my hair and face with second hand water.

"Oh yuck!" I yelped. The horse snorted again and then wandered off to graze. I looked at him speculatively; I knew he could carry Tristan and I simultaneously, albeit slowly. But would we evade the Blue People if they came back?

To answer at least part of that question, I faintly heard raised voices from deeper in the forest. The Blue People.

Shit and double shit.

"Fizzy!" I hissed, leaping to my feet. The horse rightly ignored me. I darted over to him, snatching up the reins. "Come on!" I tugged him back to the camp, moving as quickly and quietly as I dared.

"Tristan, we have to go now!" I said in an urgent undertone. Tristan had managed to wriggle into his breeches, but was still bare-chested. He looked surprised. "I think it's the Blue People," I explained, stuffing the bandages and fire-flints into my pack. I left the tent. If the fort was only a day away we wouldn't need it.

"Woads?" Tristan looked stone-faced again. He struggled to stand and I rushed over, helping him to his feet.

"Is that what they're called?"

"It's what we call them," Tristan muttered. I handed him his tunic, packing the rest. There was no time. No time at all.

"My sword…" Tristan began. I pointed to where it was sitting on the packs.

"We need to go," I reiterated. In an effort to stay awake the previous night, I had made a harness of sorts so Fizzy could carry our packs. It was essentially the butchered remains of his saddle blanket and several leather straps which I had tinkered with until they didn't hurt or irritate the horse. Now, I threw it on Fizzy and started to attach the essentials. Tristan limped over to help, and I noticed he'd picked up his sword.

"We're in no position to fight," I said, tugging at the tough leather scabbard. "We have to run or we'll end up like your friends!"

Tristan looked like he might hit me but I stood my ground. For a start I didn't want to be killed, even if I could come back. It would also make for awkward conversation if they tried to chop my head off when I reanimated.

"But we won't get far enough," he said. I shook my head.

"For the moment they don't know we're here. But the more we argue the more time they have to catch us – so get on the horse right now or so help me I will leave you here to your desired fate!" I growled. Tristan seemed to see sense. He handed me the sword and I strapped it to the harness. I then turned to him to see he was examining the harness I'd made, his expression inscrutable.

"You call him… Fizzy?" he said hesitantly.

They probably didn't have carbonated drinks, so I just shrugged. "Why, what's his real name?"

"Sarakos," the horse's ears pricked. Yeah, that was his name.

"Fine, Sarakos," I amended. It sounded cold and hard – not like the goofy animal who'd nibbled at my hair last night. Then I swung myself up onto his back and walked him over to a stump so Tristan could get on the horse as well.

I nudged the horse as close to the stump as possible and then looked at Tristan.

"How do you want to do this?" I asked, holding out a hand.

~oOo~

Tristan didn't even bother to reply. There was no time to think about the pain or caution, so he just grabbed the girl's forearm, placed his other on Sarakos' back and swung himself up onto the horse behind her. If she hadn't been bracing herself, Tristan would have definitely pulled her off the horse.

There was a moment's awkward silence as Sarakos walked to the clearing.

"Ready for a gallop?"

Tristan reached around her narrow waist and threaded the fingers of one hand into Sarakos' mane and the other arm wrapped around her stomach. "Like we have a choice," he said by her ear, steeling himself for the pain of a bareback gallop.

"Okay," she said. There was a ring of iron in her tone – Tristan knew she meant to survive and her genuine terror at the thought of the Woads' arrival would have been hard to fake. But if she wasn't a spy, then how on earth did she come to be here? More questions and no answers. He'd have to start voicing them.

As soon as they were clear of the trees, Natalya urged Sarakos into a canter. Tristan grunted in pain and hugged her to him, pain ripping through his side and leg at the skipping motion of the horse. Sarakos seemed to sense the urgency of the situation because he pushed up into a gallop as they hit the straight path through the trees. The pace was smooth, if incredibly fast, and Tristan instinctively leaned over the horse's neck, forcing Natalya to do likewise. The pain was being replaced by sheer adrenaline as he focused only on staying on the horse and not letting go of the girl. He was looking over her shoulder at the path ahead and noticed that her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. It may have been exhilaration too, but it made him realise just how young she had to be.

Mercifully, Natalya soon called an end to the gallop, slowing Sarakos to a walk. The horse was sweating slightly, but seemed even more energetic. Natalya kept him steady, despite her obvious anxiety about Tristan's closeness. Tristan relaxed his hold on her and let his arms fall down by his sides.

"Does this horse live off speed rather than grass?" she wondered, there was a smile in her voice.

Tristan huffed; it was an apt description of Sarmatian horses. His shoulder was starting to throb and the agony in his side and leg were making themselves known as the exhilaration wore off. Natalya patted Sarakos' neck and then kicked one leg over the horse's neck. "I'll walk,"

But Tristan wasn't going to let her escape that easily. He caught her hip with his good arm "You have no idea how quickly Woads can travel," he said. "Sarakos can carry both of us easily,"

She sighed and returned to sitting astride the horse, head hanging. She seemed tired. Tristan was exhausted too and leaned against her slightly, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin tunic.

"Are you alright?"

Tristan sighed, silencing further fussing. "I'll be fine. You can look at the wounds later," he said.

"Well then… it's alright… to lean on me if you like…" she said sounded like she would prefer to push him off the horse, but Tristan knew she'd have to throw herself off too once he was leaning on her; so he rested more of his weight against her back, surprised by how strong she was. Looping his arms around her hips, he rested his forehead on her shoulder with a sigh. He made a mental note to swear her to secrecy about this later – his fellow knights could never know.