I believe my earlier assessment was an insult to bears.

Farilane stepped forward. “No, I do,” she stated clearly. “These are indeed our horses. This, for example, is my horse. I raised Mirthlyn from a foal, didn’t I?” She scrubbed the stallion’s forehead as she spoke to it. “Yes, I did.” She nuzzled the horse with her nose. “Besides, Mirthlyn is an Alleyas, quite a rare and restricted breed—descended in a direct line from Nyphron’s original Alon Rhist stock.”

“You calling me a liar?” the man growled menacingly.

The guy was certainly committed to the bear theme. In another place and time—at a costume party for example—Farilane might have found it cute, or at least creative. “I don’t know,” she replied, turning from the horse to present him a pleasant smile. “The definition of a liar is someone who knowingly tells a falsehood. I suspect it’s entirely possible you’re an idiot and therefore don’t actually know the difference between a wild horse and one that is tethered by its owner.”

The bear-man took an aggressive step toward Farilane.

Kolby moved between them. “Don’t,” was all he said. The word was soft, almost gentle.

From out of the monastery came several people. Some were monks, but at least five looked like close relatives of the brooding fellow who now faced off with Kolby. Most of them had weapons.

“Four of these horses belong to us,” Kolby explained. “They were taken from our camp last night. I don’t know how they came into your possession. I don’t care. But they belong to us, and we’re taking them back.”

“They belong to me.” The man stood nearly a foot taller than Kolby. His shoulders were wide and thick, as was his neck. “This whole village belongs to me. You will, too, little man, if you aren’t careful.”

In response, Kolby unfixed the brooch at his throat and let his cloak fall. The sight of the gold dragon emblem on his chest and the three swords he wore provided the expected response: a collective gasp.

“Teshlor Knight,” someone whispered, and the message was transferred back until Farilane was sure even the milkmaids heard the news.

One of the men, armed with a short sword wrapped in a crude hide sheath, moved up alongside the bear-man. “What is he doing here?” This new fellow was just as brutish and hairy, causing Farilane to speculate that it might be less a fashion statement and more a family trait.

“Right now, we’re just collecting our horses,” Kolby explained, keeping his voice low and steady. “If someone could inform us where the saddles and bridles are, I’d appreciate that.”

“You aren’t taking my horses,” the man in front of Kolby maintained. He pulled back his lips to show teeth.