I donned the clothes Gallen had found for me, relishing their warmth: a pair of soft leather breeches, and a moss-green cotton tunic. 

When I pulled out the diplomatic scrolls from my pack, Gallen had already set up the tent near the crackling heat of the fire. We both sat inside the snug space, Gallen’s intense gaze petrifying me as I laid out the documents in the tent. 

“I stole these from the Duke’s office,” I explained. “Despite the truce you’ve just brokered with Thornland, they are plotting a war. It’s all in here. Locations of their armies. Strategies. Names of their spies.” 

A glimmer of curiosity flashed across Gallen’s clever eyes. I had piqued his interest. 

“I’ve been sitting at the high council for over a decade,” I continued. “I know how Thornland thinks. With this knowledge, not only could Voke thwart the humans’ plans, but maybe we could even achieve long-lasting peace between our countries.”

Gallen pulled out a loaf of rosemary bread from one of his packs and handed me half. He read through some of the scrolls, before reaching for one of them. I held the parchments down with my hand, staring up at him. I may be at a loss with a campfire, but I knew how to conduct negotiations. 

“These are for King Luther,” I asserted. “What’s to prevent you from abandoning me out here once you have what you need?”

“I see,” Gallen grinned, amused. “Get some rest. Your first riding lesson starts at dawn.”

I sprang awake at the break of dawn, disoriented, panting. Gallen wasn’t in the tent. Fear gnawed at me, but I was reassured to see the stack of documents I had slept on. If Gallen wanted to abandon me, he would have stolen the parchments first. 

After yesterday’s rain, the crisp morning air pricked my skin. When I exited the tent, Gallen was saddling the horse he had brought back for me. 

“Take my saddle, I’ll ride bareback,” he informed me. “Get on. The only way to learn is to ride.”

“It is?” I wished he would give me a few pointers first. 

“Well, no. Really, the only way to learn is to fall.” He smiled, mischievous. “ We’ll reach Voke by nightfall.” 

Cautiously, I approached the horse. I ran my hand alongside its chestnut neck, and its eyes followed me as I did. It neighed softly and pushed me with its nose. I stumbled back, surprised. 

“She likes you,” Gallen noted. 

“She?” 

“She’s a mare. No older than five.” 

I got on. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the flutter of her heart. 

“Squeeze her with your calves,” Gallen advised. 

I did as ordered, and she leaped into a canter. I squealed, holding on to her mane. Behind me, I heard Gallen burst into a wild laugh. 

My heart bolted as the mare sped up into a gallop through the forest. Low branches whizzed by, the wind sharp against my cheeks. I realized I wasn’t afraid. The mare’s sheer power underneath me was exhilarating. 

We ran all the way to the top of a nearby hill, where I leaned back instinctively. The mare stopped. We were both breathing hard. 

“She’s sensitive,” Gallen observed when he caught up with me. 

He was carrying my leather pack. Panic swelled my chest. I had forgotten all about it. 

“Maybe just a gentle touch with your calf next time. We’re not galloping all the way to Voke,” He added, handing me the pack. 

I grabbed it and beamed at him.

We walked through the hills of Thornland for the better part of the morning, going across cornfields and wheat fields. My wrists were aching, and the late spring sun was beating down on us. But for the first time, I didn’t feel alone. 

“What’s Voke like?” I asked. I had always been curious about the land I grew up in. The memories I had were fragmented; they floated in my mind, slightly different each time. 

The spark of a smile illuminated Gallen’s gaze. “The land is wild and luxuriant,” he started. “Unlike humans, demons live in tribes. Some of them have territories, but others roam the country freely.” 

“Who decides that?” Thornland was so different. We lived in villages and towns. Anyone who roamed was either a highwayman or a vagrant. 

“There’s a tribe council, headed by King Luther,” Gallen explained. “But sometimes, we just fight it out.” 

I was slack-jawed, and Gallen burst out laughing. Was he joking?

“Which tribe are you from?” 

“My wife, Gaia, and I, are both from the Annaba tribe.” He rubbed his thumb over the salmon tattoo on his temple. “We’re known for our wisdom and knowledge,” he says proudly. 

“Is it wise to teach someone to ride by just putting them on a horse?” I laughed. 

“That’s just practical,” he answered. “We had to go before the Duke’s guards could find us.”

I nodded. True.

“Do you know which tribe you’re from?” He asked. 

My thoughts went to the wisps of images I retained from my childhood. A dry stone house at the edge of a forest. Three children, two girls and a boy, teasing each other. Everytime I prodded for more, my mind pushed me away, preventing me from learning more. 

I shook my head. “No...I kept a medallion from my mother, though.” 

“What does it look like?”

I unwrapped the small heirloom, which I had tucked in a corner of my leather pack. Gallen trailed his finger over the outline of the two horses and their manes, interlocked into one another. 

“I’ve never seen something like this before. But there is a demon tribe, famous for their horses.” 

I sat up, eager to know more. 

“The Epona tribe.”

“Epona?” I repeated, twirling the word in my thoughts. Had I heard that before? 

“Protectors of horses. No wonder you’re a natural,” he praised me. 

I leaned down and patted the mare’s neck. Indeed, since we had set out earlier in the morning, I had been considering her an extension of my body. Without thinking about it, I knew when she was hot, thirsty, and uncomfortable from the fly bites. 

“She needs a break,” I realized. 

He pointed ahead. A wide expanse of water shimmered in the sun. 

“The Eastern River,” he said. “The border between Thornland and Voke.”

My heart jolted in my chest. 

“It’s very shallow this late in spring. We’ll let the horses drink before crossing.”

When we reached the river, we dismounted. My mare was grateful to have a drink of fresh water. I splashed some on my face and arms, savouring the bite of the cold. 

Gallen didn’t let us rest for too long. After a few minutes, he got back on his horse. I pressed my mare on, but she stopped at the edge of the water, pawing at the ground, nostrils flared.

“She doesn’t like it,” I told Gallen. 

“She doesn’t have a choice,” he answered. 

He walked by and slapped the mare’s rump. But instead of going forward, she reared up, forelegs in the air. 

I yelped and tumbled in the water, stunned. When I sat up, I saw the mare galloping away.