“Thank you.” She gathered her materials, a flush coloring her cheeks. “I want this program to succeed.”
My eyes fell on the carved sorhox figure on my desk. Wexla had made it during our last month together, when she already knew she was dying but hadn’t told me yet. The sharp pain I’d felt whenever I looked at it had dulled. The realization brought confusion rather than relief. Was this healing or betrayal?
Carla followed my gaze. “It’s beautiful work. She was very talented.”
“She was.” I touched the smooth curve of the figure’s back. “This was one of the last things she made.” Clearing my throat,I returned to safer territory. “Your ideas for the program are excellent. But there’s one important aspect we haven’t addressed.”
“Which is?”
“We should grab some sandwiches from the bakery and take them with us. I’d like you to get comfortable on a sorhox if you’re going to be developing this program. I hope you’re up for a ride this afternoon.”
She paused. “You want to go riding?”
“Unless you’d rather not.”
“No, no, it’s alright. I’m…” She peered down at her clothing before lifting her head and giving a shaky laugh. “At least I opted not to wear a skirt today. You’re sure the sorhoxes will be extra gentle with me?”
“We’ll make sure of it. You’re going to have fun.” I hoped.
“If you say so.”
Chapter 5
Carla
My heart thudded against my chest wall as Becken led me toward the sorhox pens, the cloth sack with our lunch swinging from his hand. The overcast sky made the morning feel intimate somehow, like the world had shrunk to just the two of us and the magnificent creatures we were about to ride. The wind nipped at my cheeks, and I buried my hands deeper in my pockets, grateful I’d worn my heavy jacket with its fur-lined hood and gloves.
“Dester will work well for your first ride.” Becken gestured toward a sorhox standing calmly in the nearest pen along with a few others. “He’s trained to respond to the same commands as horses.”
Dester was smaller than some of the other sorhoxes I’d seen, though still massive compared to any horse. His dark green hide gleamed, and his curved horns swept elegantly back from his head, curling around to the front in lethal spikes. When he turned to look at us, his eyes held that same intelligence that both unnerved and fascinated me. A plume of steam came from his nostrils with each breath, swept away by the breeze.
“He seems big.” I attempted to keep my voice steady.
“All sorhoxes are.” A hint of amusement colored Becken’s tone. “But Dester is placid. He’s good for beginners.”
The word beginners stung my professional pride, but I couldn’t argue with that. I’d managed rodeo operations for years without ever sitting on a horse. Now I was about to mount a creature that made horses look like ponies.
The earthy scent of the sorhoxes filled the air as Becken urged Dester from the pen. The ground crunched beneath our boots, frost crystallizing on the sparse grass. In the distance, other sorhoxes called to each other, their low rumbles carrying across the open plain.
“I’m ready.” I straightened my shoulders, trying to project confidence. Did he hear the shake in my voice? I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous about this. Lots of people rode.
Just not beasts the size of a minivan.
Becken left Dester outside the fence and while he strode toward the barn, the sorhox lowered his head and sniffed my side, making a soft sound deep in his throat. Becken returned carrying a saddle, with a harness hanging over his shoulder.
“We’ll start with saddling him. Watch how I approach from the left side, keeping my movements slow and without any jerky movement.” He demonstrated, his large hands gentle on Dester’s flank. “You try.”
I mimicked his actions, stepping cautiously toward the sorhox. Dester turned his head to observe me but remained still. His hide felt warm beneath my gloved hand, surprisingly smooth, like polished leather but alive with subtle movement as his muscles shifted beneath.
“Good,” Becken said. “Now help me with the saddle.”
It was heavy, made of thick leather with reinforced stirrups and intricate designs burned into the edges. Together we lifted it onto Dester’s back, although only Becken was tall enough to reach. I’d have to stand on a stool or something if I ever saddleda sorhox myself. Becken showed me how to secure the straps under Dester’s belly.
The leather creaked, and Dester shifted his weight, adjusting to the pressure.
“Sorhoxes are amazing creatures,” I said as he adjusted the final strap.
“They sure are.” He patted Dester’s side. “They understand more than most humans believe.”
