His left had hit the ground when he landed, bracing him, but his right was pulled back behind and raised high. Seeing it now, Pocket straightened quickly, sheepishly trying to hide the transformed appendage behind his back. He could feel his fingers tingling beneath a slight burning sensation and there was an unpleasant pulling at his fingertips. Sir Corc appeared busy with the bundles on the beast’s back, so Pocket risked a look. He brought his hands around, the left cradling the right, just in time to see the claws receding. They were black, thick and cruelly hooked, the tendons on the back of his hand thick and swollen beneath the skin. His stomach churned sickly and Pocket looked away, rubbing at the flesh until the burning ceased. He was ashamed and more than a little disturbed. He had never formed anything like that before and certainly not without trying. What must Sir Corc think? That he was moon-brained! Addled in the wits! A wild and pathetic thing, displaying ugly and futile ferocity just like the rats before Napper killed them. He glanced back down. His hand had returned to normal, but he hid it anyway when Sir Corc turned around again. He always seemed to embarrass himself in front of this knight. The knight who saved him as a babe and seemed to be saving him once again.

“Can you tend a mule?” the knight asked.

Pocket had been a scullion his entire life, not a stable boy. He nodded anyway.

“Good,” Sir Corc said. “You will lead him and feed him. Brush him down at night. Mind his hooves for stones. His comfort will come before your own. On a journey such as this, it must be so. Understand?”

Pocket nodded again. “Does he have a name?” He knew it was a foolish question. Sir Corc would never name an animal. Pocket was already thinking of what he would call him.

“Backbone,” Sir Corc said. “I call him Backbone.” Pocket was pleasantly surprised and managed not to show it. “This too shall be yours,” the knight said, handing him a bundle.

This time, Pocket failed to keep the shock and joy from his face. It was a long jerkin, sized to fit him and made of finely woven wool, lightweight yet sturdy and warm, but it was not the quality that made him marvel, it was the colors. It was deep crimson and pale grey, quartered in front and halved across the back; the colors of the Valiant Spur!