Now he could hear what was going on around him; birds, the wind in the trees, the dull thud of the mare’s hooves on the turf. So this was what people meant by “peaceful countryside”? Well, they could have it. He’d have given an arm for his loft room right now.

He could probably have gotten off her back at this point—but for what? He didn’t even know where he was! Here they were in the middle of a complete wilderness, with no shelter, nothing to eat, and no people, so where would he go? Somehow he had to convince this devil beast to get him back home—

Now she slowed to a walk, and all he could do was slump over her neck, as the light coming through the trees took on an amber cast. She was sweating, but no more than one of the horses he was familiar would have been after a moderately hard job. She should have been foaming with sweat. Foaming? She should be collapsed on the ground by now!

Head bobbing with each step, she ambled down the path, and then, with no more warning than when she’d started this run, she stopped.

Skif looked up through eyes blurring with exhaustion and tears of frustration and fear.

Now what ?

They stood in a tiny clearing, in front of the smallest building he had ever seen. They were completely surrounded by trees, and the only other object in the clearing was a pump next to the building with a big stone trough beneath it. He couldn’t hear anything but birds and the wind. If there were any humans anywhere around, there was no sign of them. For the first time in his life, Skif was completely alone.

He’d have given anything to see a single human being. Even a Watchman. If the Watch had showed up, he’d have flung himself into their arms and begged them to take him to gaol.

Every muscle, every bone, every inch of Skif’s body was in pain. His nose and eye hurt worst, but everything hurt. He sat in the saddle, blinking, his bad eye watering, and choked back a sob. Then he slowly pried his fingers, one at a time, away from the pommel of the saddle.

He looked down at the ground, which seemed furlongs away, and realized that he couldn’t dismount.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that he couldn’t. He couldn’t make his cramped legs move. And even if he could, he was afraid to fall.

Then the mare solved his problem by abruptly shying sideways.

He didn’t so much slide off the saddle as it was that the horse and her saddle slid out from underneath him. He made a grab for the pommel again, but it was too late.