They traveled in silence into the early morning hours, heading for a star that Hunter had pointed out. She thought that the Roush and Karas had run out of things to say or were sulking in silence, but a glance back told her differently.

Karas was slumped over the horse’s neck, with one arm draped over each side. She was small enough to lie securely. Here Darsal had been thinking that she’d effectively silenced the girl with her imposing air of authority, when all the while Karas was snoring through sweet dreams!

Darsal leaned forward and peered over Hunter’s furry head. The Roush’s eyes were closed. He was leaning back on Darsal, sleeping soundly.

None of this sat well with Darsal. If she was required to endure tomorrow’s hot sun without the benefit of sound sleep, so should they. Her mind drifted back to the many contests Billos had talked her into after he’d rescued her from certain death at her uncle’s hand when she was eight years old.

Billos was always up for a contest. Who could stay awake the longest? Who could eat the most fire ants before their throats swelled shut? Who would be the first to pull their head from the water? Who could hang from a rope tied to a branch the longest? One-handed? Three fingers? One finger? By their necks?

She smiled in the darkness. For a period she’d made it her life’s ambition to break every one of his records. And she did. So convincingly that Billos had scolded her for doing nothing but practicing to beat him.

“Is your life’s ambition to beat me?” he’d demanded. “Life’s not just one long contest! What’s your problem?”

You, she’d thought. You’re my problem, Billos, because I owe you my life. And I want to be like you.

She realized then that in her attempt to please him by excelling in these feats of his, she was displeasing him. Billos was bred to be a winner; anything less only frustrated him. Though she still played his games enthusiastically after that day, she stopped practicing night and day to beat him.

Darsal reached down, untied the knot that held Hunter to the pommel, and gave him a nudge with her left arm. The Roush slowly tipped over, then toppled off the horse, a ball of fur headed to the desert floor.

He landed with a soft thud and, amazingly, lay still for a moment before suddenly waking and floundering for footing.

Without so much as a squawk, the Roush shook his head to clear it, stumbled forward, took flight, and settled back in his former position on the horse.

He snuggled back into Darsal’s stomach, sighed deeply, and settled. Two minutes later the creature was snoring again.