The back porch connected to a small fenced pasture, the earth freshly tilled in neat rows and smelling of spring. Athan picked up a woven bridle, blanket and a hauling saddle from off the fence railing and walked to a different enclosed paddock, this one full of half-eaten clover and one dark copper colored mule. Dnara stopped at the railing between fields, her experience with animals limited to chickens, pigs and a peaceful milk cow named Honey.
Had Honey survived? Had anything survived? She glanced back over the western horizon to where a line of trees stood as foreboding sentinels protecting the forest beyond. She’d last seen Honey in her stall, udder full and sweet eyes asking to be milked. Had she been milked that morning, or was she still in the stall, waiting? The barn, she assumed, had been burned along with everything else.
An ache in her chest brought her hand to the front of her apron. Her fingers clenched the cloth, the sting in her heart prickling like nettles. She’d been so selfish in her desire to flee the chaos, to never look back, she hadn’t even stopped to think of the others, trapped in their collars, or of the animals trapped in their cages.
There had been only the fear and the fire, the roar that made her heart shudder. Run, the voice had cried out. Run, child, and never look-
“Dnara?” Athan’s hands gently grasped her shaking shoulders, his words hushed by concern. “Are you alright?”
Dnara blinked the shadows of memory from her eyes and inhaled sharply the scents of tilled earth, clover, and the forest pine clinging to Athan’s clothes. “W-what?”
Athan’s hands let go. “You were shaking.”
“Sorry, I...” She took in another deep breath an attempted to give a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”
“You look exhausted,” he said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay the night?”
“No,” she said, still caught up in thought, then clarified. “I’m mean yes, I’m sure. We shouldn’t stay. I think... I think they know, and I wouldn’t risk putting them in danger if...” Her words trailed off, back into memories of men screaming in the flames.
Athan backed off a pace. “You think your keeper may send a tracker after you?”
If he lives... “Yes, it’s a possibility. The quicker we reach town, the quicker we can part ways.”
“Ouch,” Athan said on a smirk, falling back into his casual levity. “Tired of me already?”
“No, I-” she blurted out then stalled as the heat rose up the back of her neck. Athan’s carefree grin did nothing to alleviate it, or the growing worry for his safety. “I’ll not have you put at risk, either.”
“I believe that risk is mine to take, Lady Thorngrove,” he said with a subtle, mock bow. “But your concern is appreciated. Now then, enough talk of keepers and trackers and things unpleasant.” Athan gave a whistle and behind him the mule approached on a trot. “I have a friend who would very much like to meet you.”
Dnara took a step back then steeled her resolve and tried to mimic Athan’s jovial nature. “Me, or the carrot in my pocket?”
Athan chuckled and patted Treven’s nose. “I don’t think Treven knows the difference.”
The mule, however, nipped Athan’s hood and yanked. Athan had to step back with it or risk falling, and Dnara had to cover her mouth to keep the laughter inside. “Seems he knows the difference. Hector said Treven is a smart mule, and I’m inclined to agree.”
As if understanding and appreciating her words, Treven let go of Athan’s hood and came closer. With gentle care, the mule nuzzled her cheek and hair, softly inspecting with lips and snout. Dnara stood still as a statue, until her fear at his soft inspection felt misplaced. With a slow hand, she palmed his cheek. He blew hot air through her hair but did not pull away. With only the touch, she could feel his strength, the power beneath the twitching chestnut hair. That a creature so strong could be so tender...
Treven let out another snort then tugged at the top of her apron with his lips. Dnara laughed with a joy not often felt. She reached into her front apron pocket and withdrew the carrot. As with all his caresses, Treven took the carrot from her palm with placid grace.
“I think you earned this,” Dnara said, Treven’s long ears rotating forward then back as the carrot crunched in his mouth.
“And I think he likes you,” Athan said as he sorted out his hood and half-cloak.
“Smart mule,” Hector said as he approached from the back porch with a bundle in hand. “Told you.”
“Indeed,” Athan replied with a pat to Treven’s neck before adding the bundle of goods to Treven’s saddle hooks. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t like to be ridden, or we could be to town before nightfall.”
“That’s all right.” Dnara watched as Treven’s powerful muscles twitched. “I don’t mind walking.”
“Some mules are like that,” Hector said. “They think they’re better than people, which I’m sure they are better than some people.”
Athan laughed at that. “Treven thinks he is people.”
With a hoof stamping the ground, Treven reached around and unlatched Athan’s backpack from the saddle, sending it falling to the dirt. Athan stopped laughing and retrieved the bag with a huffed “smartass” as Dnara tried not to laugh. Next to her, Hector let out a hooting cackle while slapping a knee.
“Maybe he is people!” Hector took in a long breath then handed the bundle to Dnara. “And you ain’t walking nowhere without shoes, girl.”
On top of the multi-tiered bundle sat a pair of sandals, looking to be her size. “Oh, I can’t,” she protested and attempted to give the bundle back.
“You dang well can,” the old man replied sternly and crossed his arms so she
