Sunlight streamed through the door the stableboy had left open in his haste to flee Lyssa’s presence. The straw near the door shone golden against the bumpy earth, shaped by many hooves over the winter months when the mud was much softer.

The wooden barn was cold and slightly damp, which Lyssa considered to be perfect, considering how high the temperature could reach outside. It was one large room with stalls around the sides for the horses and a table of equipment in the middle.

A ladder led up to a dark loft that didn’t look very stable and wouldn’t be a good place to retreat to in a fight. If it didn’t collapse under your weight, then you’d be trapped because it was too high to jump from.

Other than it’s defensible failings, the barn was at the very edge of the village and it had been an isolated paradise that had called to her. The sounds of horses comfortingly familiar while the smell wasn't so strong as to be repulsive, but enough to feel like home.

Lyssa heaved the leather saddle above her head, placing it on Bouda’s neck and sliding it down the horse’s back, until it rested in the right place. Her fingers traced the pattern she had stitched into the leather during its creation all those years ago.

It told a story from her home, of Ityskalyn, a god who became mortal and walked the earth to show the strength of leading an honourable life. They would die and be reborn again and again, into many different bodies and suffer through the hardships of life, until leading a good life killed them once again.

As a child she had chosen the god as her guiding light, to lead her into adulthood, through all the hardships that meant leaving childhood behind. Lyssa had strayed so far from that path she knew there was no going back, but the dreams still lingered.

She pulled the girth tight, before attaching the saddle bags, and stuffing them with the few belongings she’d left scattered around her sleeping area, to fool those who might try to stop her leaving.

Most of it had been properly packed last night after the stable boy had left. Not that anyone was around to notice, but she knew what these small communities were like. They were in everyone’s business. It had been a fight, just to sleep where she wanted to, and not become an honoured guest for a family to dote on.

In the end it had been Bouda’s obvious temper that had allowed Lyssa to stay with the war horse without a fight. She hadn’t encouraged Bouda to put her hooves through the wall, but she also hadn’t done much to intervene either. She never could measure up to Ityskalyn the ways others in her clan seemed to manage effortlessly to their own guides.

The stable master himself had escorted her to the wooden barn at the edge of the village. This had surprised her because of his importance in the community, and how seriously he seemed to take everything, including himself.

His name was Cloade, but he had no clan name or hearth name. Some countries she’d passed through gave the citizens family names, which was very close to hearth names, but Ghandan custom seemed to be that you were named after your work.

Cloade was short but stocky, with very little hair left on his head and a temperament that went very well with horses, but seemed to make people uneasy. His outward calm belied his true feelings, and Lyssa didn’t trust him at all.

He’d given Bouda the stall in the corner, away from the other horses, and had tried to set the warrior up in another stall that looked like it was set up for a person to sleep in. She’d ignored him and laid down her bedroll on the hay in Bouda’s stall.

He’d given up at that point, and she hadn’t bothered to see him leave, because she had turned her back on him to tend to Bouda. His sigh told her that the gesture was considered rude, but not the offence it would have been in Vylnava.

Where she was from you only turned your back to give insult to someone who had acted against you, or who had been outcast. The stable master had done nothing to keep her from the stable, but he’d made it clear she wasn’t welcome.

Yet another custom from her home being stepped on. She had travelled enough to know it wasn’t intentional, but guest rites were important, and it was hard to see all Hulna had, and not feel resentful to a man who couldn’t share a little for a guest.

The next few days had been unbearable at times, and at others dangerously peaceful. It would be far too easy to slip into this life of caring for the horses and occasionally seeing off bandits. She could tolerate being celebrated as a hero and being taken on a tour of the village because they were one offs. The people were getting the message she wasn’t the chatty type and had stopped bothering her, now they only watched from a distance.

Only Abi couldn’t be driven off.

Bouda nipped at her hands as the warrior tried to put the reins over the horse’s head. In the end Lyssa had to bribe her horse into allowing the bit to be placed.

In their early days Lyssa had lost far too much food to Bouda, before she learned to hold the food hostage in one hand, until the bridle was secure, and then give the reward.

The stable boy had left early in the morning to put the horses out to pasture so she had the stable to herself. He’d tried to help with Bouda at first, but he hadn’t argued after he’d got one look at the horse and put it together with the reputation she was gaining around the village. He might have even seen the hole in the wall she’d made.

They were all curious about Bouda, but Lyssa was keeping tight lipped about the horse’s size and temperament. Especially after Abi had discovered the warrior’s identity. She wasn’t taking any chances with the rest of them. Even if none of them seemed to be as well informed, or as interested, as Abi was about current events in the outside world.

A few didn’t even want a warrior in Hulna, Cloade the most vocal of that group, but they saw the necessity of her protection and were grudgingly accepting of her presence, for now.

So far she’d chased off a few bandit raids, but the number of bandits had been small. Nothing the village couldn’t handle by themselves. She’d shown them how to defend the village better and, as far as she could see, there was only one way to help any further and she was not leading these people into war.

The warrior also wasn’t going to wait for her welcome to be worn out. Self important villagers and their politics were so frustrating to navigate. Her solution was usually to intimidate them into silence by reputation alone, but they all thought she was a better person than she was.

They didn’t know how many people she had killed. They thought she was the warrior she had been in her youth.

One good punch would dissuade them of that notion.

Perhaps sensing this, Kyla had warned her about who she should avoid. That was another reason why she had waited until late morning, when everyone would be at their work, to sneak off. No one from her past would believe she was sneaking around like this, even she found it hard to believe, and she had been there for the journey that got her to this point.

Bouda wasn’t as eager to be gone from the village as Lyssa had thought she was going to be. It seemed that being inside and eating as much as she wanted was addictive.

Once the horse realised they wouldn’t be coming back, she made it even more difficult to get the tack on, and succeeded in knocking Lyssa over a few times before they were done.

The warrior led the disgruntled horse, nipping at her shoulders, from the stable. She tried to be discreet, but an attempt to look outside and see who was around was easily thwarted.

One nudge to her back and Bouda forced her to stumble out the stable doors.

Luckily there was no one to see that undignified exit of the stables, but that luck vanished in the same moment as Abi rounded the corner.

She had her hair tied back, but it still sought its freedom and made a black curly halo around her head. Her tunic was a light blue that had faded in places and worn thin in others. Around her waist a thin green belt gave the tunic some shape. Her leggings were the same grey that everyone wore to work in the fields. Which was exactly where she should be at this moment.

The girl’s eyes lit up and she sprinted her way to Lyssa, stopping just in time to stand in front of the warrior and smile.

Lyssa couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

“We’re going for a ride.” Lyssa spoke before Abi could, and tried to position them so the horse would block Abi’s view of the pack she had attached to the saddle, and the full saddlebags.

“I brought Bouda some fruit.” Abi held up her cupped hands full of cut up pieces of orange fruit.

Fruit was the magic word with Bouda, and Lyssa had no chance to hold the horse back as she lunged forward.

The other villagers had learned the hard way not to get between Bouda and anything she wanted. Abi however, didn’t seem to be worried about losing a hand, or being trampled.

She just held the food up as the horse pushed into her space. Maybe losing a hand was a bit of an exaggeration, but she could certainly lose a finger.

When they had arrived at the village Bouda had almost trampled a few people to get to some of the sweet smelling fruit. Others had become wary of the large horse but not Abi, who was determined to make Bouda love her.

As if the horse’s approval would make Lyssa stay. Although on second thoughts, as she watched Bouda enjoying the fruit, it might not be a bad plan. The horse had a massive appetite and was unmovable when she wanted to be.

“Shouldn’t you be in the fields?” Lyssa asked.

Everyone who didn’t have a speciality, like the blacksmith or the carpenter, or who weren’t married, helped where they were needed the most, and at the moment that was helping the farmers. Lyssa had spent less than an hour helping them before an attack by bandits had been a welcome relief.

A sheepish look crossed Abi’s face for a moment and her gaze dropped to the floor, but she shrugged it off, focusing again on the horse enthusiastically eating out of her hands.

“I never made it. I was too busy picking maro fruit.” Abi looked down at her hands where Bouda was attempting to lick up any stray juice. “Besides they never want me there. I can be much more useful to you.” Abi’s smile was back to full force in a way that the older woman didn’t quite believe.

Lyssa narrowed her eyes and debated with herself over how involved she should get.

A scream for help tore through the air.

Lyssa took a moment to orientate herself and where the scream had come from. She bolted towards the centre of the village.

Hooves echoed her footsteps on the stone path that circled the village.

Lyssa vaulted a fence and winced as Bouda’s hooves clipped the top as she followed.

She only slowed when she was forced to head between the houses that blocked her path to the center of the village.

If bandits had made it this far into the village then there would be no defense. The only option left would be to slaughter as many of them as possible before they could kill anyone else.

The warrior turned a corner into the village square with one hand on the pommel of her sword.

Instead of bandits and death, there was a group of villagers at the edge of the green, surrounding an out of breath young man and they were all arguing.

Lyssa sprinted across the grass and jumped the roots of the giant tree at its center.

She tried to work out what the man was saying, but the dialect they spoke in Ghanda was hard enough to understand on a good day, when they weren’t all panicking and she actually had some patience.

“What has happened?” Lyssa demanded, cutting short the panicked babbling and stepping into the middle of the group.

All eyes turned to her, most looked relieved but she still took note of the few who looked resentful.

“The trader is being ambushed.” The young man said in the Cahan dialect, but still made his voice slow and loud as if she didn’t know that language either.

“Where?”

“Along the east road. I’ll take you.” He offered, pointing east.

“No, I’ll be quicker on my own and no one else needs to get hurt.”

Lyssa didn’t waste time explaining her plan to them.

She put one foot in the stirrup and leapt onto Bouda.

The horse was in motion before the warrior had settled in the saddle.

The people scattered.