The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [36]
‘Good nose, Dray.’
Thank you.
An occasional ‘moo’ haunted the valley, reminding Rosette of the foghorns that boomed across Lister Bay. The sound made the road seem even more desolate. She shivered, glancing at the sky. Aside from a flock of pigeons circling above and a few white egrets amongst the cows, she and Drayco were alone. Even the Three Sisters had vanished. Dropping any hope of getting a lift with a passing farmer, Rosette looked briefly behind her, straightened her shoulders and started to jog.
She’d been travelling for days, mostly in the comfort of a first-class coach. The smooth roads and clear weather had given her time to read and muse while Drayco stretched out across the opposite seat, alternately napping and staring at the countryside rolling by. That luxury had ended abruptly this morning when she had learned how much the driver wanted to take her to the gates of the Treeon Temple. Clearly he’d thought he had her stumped. He quoted a price five times higher than it had cost to get here from Dumarka, a week’s coach ride. She would rather walk than be robbed outright, and had told him so.
‘Be my guest,’ he’d said, laughing as he dumped her heavy pack on the side of the road. ‘See how far you get on your own legs, luscious as they are.’
She felt certain he had more to say, but Drayco had stepped forward, his lips pulled back in a snarl. The coachman had tipped his hat and drove off in a cloud of dust. Good riddance.
Rosette trotted down the road and Drayco loped at her side, energetic and alert. He darted off into the bushes and scuttled straight up tall pines only to shimmy down with much twisting and turning of his head. It made her laugh. He was five years old now, but still such a juvenile at times. His tail lashed as he stalked prey, real or imagined, she didn’t know which. At least the journey was amusing him.
She shifted the weight of her pack and slowed to a walk, trudging up a steep hill, using her staff as a walking stick.
When they crested the rise, she let out a long, hearty exclamation, ‘Woooheeee! Look at that view!’
Quiet, Maudi. I’m hunting. Drayco’s eyes were fixed on a gopher hole by the side of the road, little spurts of dirt shooting from its opening.
‘Oh, come on, Dray. Look out there.’ She pointed towards the magnificent valley, a wide river coursing through it. The pastures were golden, rippling with tall oat grass and pale green alfalfa. ‘It’s so inviting. Let’s get to the water and have a snack.’
My snack’s right here. Hush, before you scare it away. Drayco sat inches from the gopher hole, ears pricked forward, frozen like a statue. Little flicks of dirt were flying up from the depths, making his whiskers twitch with each spurt. He bunched his haunches.
Before he could pounce, Rosette stiffened. ‘Someone’s coming,’ she whispered.
Drayco spun around, his head high, his mouth opening slightly to taste the air. His hackles rose, almost touching Rosette’s hip as he pressed against her. Danger?
She squinted. ‘I doubt it. Looks like a lad on a plough horse to me.’
Drayco took another sniff then yawned. Great. Here come more interruptions.
‘Or, great! Here comes our ride.’
And there goes my snack.
She laughed.
A huge, dappled grey horse trotted towards them, head down, eyes half closed, shaggy fetlocks scuffing the hard-packed dirt, making dust rise with each hoof fall. He carried a young man and a lot of gear. His rider wore a green cloak and a blue scarf with a small guitar slung across his back. Oblivious, he whistled as he bounced along.
He doesn’t smell like a farm boy. Drayco stood watching their approach, his hackles slowly dropping.
‘I don’t know about that, but not many farm boys travel with their guitars. Better let me do the talking.’
If you insist, Maudi.
Rosette and Drayco watched while he crested the hill. She guessed the lad was a little younger than her, perhaps in his late teens. He certainly looked comfortable on that big horse—his expression merry beneath a brightly coloured knitted