So Kero smiled at the town, and at the brightly-colored tents springing up at the edge of the town like so many odd-colored mushrooms. Her cousins had arrived on schedule, and had been surprised and delighted to see her Company back so soon.

Eldan had commented on it last—

She resolutely shoved the false memory away, along with the memory of his sitting in this very window, with moonlight shining down on him instead of sunlight.

Rest. That’s what I need. And distraction. The cousins can take care of that. As soon as they get things settled, we’ll have a chance to talk, she thought. I need to replace Hellsbane soon. Kero’s current mount was actually the second “Hellsbane” she’d ridden; following Tarma’s example, she’d simply kept the same name for the new mount; it was less confusing for her and her horse. She’s too good not to send back to breed, and there should be a mare from Number One’s foaling ready for me by now. I’m glad they have the training of her; I don’t have time to school my own horses anymore.

That thought sent her to the east window, looking down on the arenas and the stables, where she checked up on the current batch of new recruits.

She was just in time to see a rangy gelding with a lot of Plains’ pony in him blunder into a barrel at full gallop. He managed to pull himself up, but the impact sent his rider somersaulting over his left shoulder as he stumbled. Kero caught her breath—even the best rider can take a bad fall—but the recruit kept right on rolling, in a perfectly controlled tumble, and jumped to his feet.

She let out the breath she’d been holding. The gelding didn’t bolt; he stayed obediently where he’d stopped; the rider planted hands on hips and read him a description of his parentage that didn’t once mention ponies.

Kero chuckled, as the gelding lowered ears, then head, in a gesture of submission and conciliation; horses were generally not the brightest of beasts, but this one was evidently smart enough to figure out he’d done something wrong.

The recruit finished his recitation, limped up to his horse’s side, and remounted. He called something to one of the other recruits, backing the gelding up and evidently checking his action for signs of injury, before finishing the rest of the course. The Skybolts simply did not accept recruits that couldn’t ride well—which saved them a great deal of trouble when starry-eyed shepherds’ daughters and plowboys showed up at the gate. They generally took one look at what the recruits were doing, blanched, and went back to their sheep, their plows or to another Company—unless, of course, it so happened that besides tending sheep, they were superb riders.