Robin Owens - Protector of the Flight

“Or stash them somewhere until you can come back to them,” Marian said.

“That could work.” Calli’d rather have them close. These animals she understood. The familiarity of horseflesh, even their scent, reassured her, reminded her that she was a damn good horsewoman.

“Try whispering to them,” Alexa said.

“I’m not going near them just yet.”

“With your mind, Calli,” Alexa suggested gently.

Shit, what did Alexa think Calli could say? “Here, horsey, horsey,” like some tenderfoot? Calli leaned on the rail and closed her eyes. She brought the equine language she’d learned a bit of yesterday to mind and mentally reached for the horses. She heard fearful shouts. Men. Will kill me. Will eat me. Run. Run. Run.

Calm, she tried radiating the feeling. Come to me. I will help. I will protect. She said that in her mind but kept up a flow of completely confident and serene emotions to them.

The sun bore down on her, making her shirt stick to her back. Her scalp dampened. This was hard!

The horses’ hooves slowed from a gallop to a canter, then a walk. Finally they calmed and lowered their heads to sniff around the ring.

Come see me, she coaxed.

Their eyes rolled as they saw her—or maybe it was the three of them, not quite in the shades they might usually see.

But now Calli could sense their thought patterns—or equine images. Of course, they weren’t intelligent like volarans. But they were curious. Especially about her smell, which was volaran and horse and different-horse. And predator, but the meat-eater was behind a fence and the bad bad-men predators were gone and the other littler predators smelled interesting, too.

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