After we secured the harness on Dester’s head, Becken latched his big hands around my waist and swung me up and onto Dester’s back.
I gulped, staring down at the ground from what felt like the top of a shed’s roof. The saddle creaked beneath me, and Dester shifted, adjusting to my weight.
The world looked different from up here, broader, more expansive. I could see over the top of the nearest pen, all the way to the tree line where dark pines stood starkly green against the gray sky. The leather of the saddle felt cold against my jeans, but Dester’s body heat rose beneath me, warming me up nicely.
“Are you alright?” Becken looked up at me, his expression unreadable. “I guess I should’ve given you a little warning there.”
“No, this is fine.” I adjusted my position. The saddle felt secure beneath me, and Dester stood patiently, unbothered by his new burden. My legs stretched wider than was comfortable to accommodate his broad back, but I assumed I’d get used to that.
“Hold the reins like this.” He guided my hands, adjusting my grip. The leather straps felt stiff and unfamiliar in my gloved fingers. “Not too tight. He needs to feel your guidance, not restriction. Keep your back straight, and if you feel unsteady, grab the saddle horn.”
I nodded, committing his instructions to memory. A thrill of excitement shot through me. I was going to ride a sorhox. How many humans could say that?
Becken stepped back, surveying my position with a critical eye. His gaze was thorough and neutral, yet a flush crept up my neck. Apparently satisfied, he turned toward the open field and called out. “Whoop, whoop, whoop.”
The sound echoed across the open plain. Within moments, Peeka came thundering toward us, the ground vibrating beneath her clawed hooves. Dester’s ears pricked forward, and he rumbled in his chest.
Peeka skidded to a halt in front of Becken, lowering her head in greeting, sending small clouds of dust rising from the ground.
“How are you, Peeka?” He stroked the sorhox’s neck. “I imagine she’s eager to go for a ride. I haven’t had much of a chance to exercise her lately.”
Unlike Dester, Peeka wore no saddle or bridle. Becken secured our lunch sack on the spike jutting up between the sorhox’s shoulders, then leaped onto Peeka’s back. His weight settled on the creature, and she adjusted her stance to balance him.
“Give Dester a loose rein, and he’ll follow.” With a nudge of his heels, he urged his mount past the riding ring and out into the broad, grassy plain. “Light pressure with the reins to turn. Gentle tug to slow or stop. He’ll do most of the work.”
Thankfully, Dester automatically paced after Peeka. The first few steps made me tense, my hands gripping the reins too tightly. The motion was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Not quite the rocking of a horse, but a smoother, rolling gait that flowed rather than bounced.
My stomach lurched with each step until I found my balance. The saddle horn dug into my palm where I gripped it, andmy thigh muscles strained to keep me centered. But as we established a rhythm, I relaxed my shoulders and spine.
We left the rodeo grounds behind, heading across the open plain that stretched between the town and the distant forest. The frigid air stung my cheeks and made my eyes water, but the view was worth the discomfort. Rolling grassland spread out around us, dotted with small ranch houses to my left and sparse stands of pine. Snowflakes began to fall, settling on Dester’s shoulders and melting into his warm hide.
“Beautiful.” I tilted my face upward, and snow landed on my eyelashes and lips. “Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.”
“The snow comes and goes this time of year,” Becken said. “In the orc kingdom, we celebrate the winter differently. The changing of seasons means something else when you live underground.”
“What kind of celebrations did you have?”
“Gathering of clans. Sharing of stories. Feast days.” His expression softened. “It’s different from what humans do, but still the same, which I know doesn’t make sense. We mark time. Honor traditions.”
As we rode, my confidence grew. The rhythmic sound of Dester’s footfalls blended with the soft whisper of snow falling around us. The smell of pine grew stronger as we approached the forest edge.
My muscles began to adapt to the movement. Each step felt more natural than the last, and I found myself leaning forward in anticipation rather than gripping the horn in fear.
“The trail rides must be amazing out here,” I said, taking in the scenery. A hawk circled overhead, its silhouette dark against the gray clouds.
“Ruugar keeps them booked solid, even in winter. Humans like seeing the territory.” Becken gestured toward a distantridge. “That’s where he usually takes them first. We can view the whole valley from up there.”
We entered the forest, following a trail that wound between ancient pines. Snow dusted their branches, occasionally releasing small cascades of white powder. The trees provided shelter, creating a hushed, peaceful world where sounds were muffled and distant.
Our breath clouded in the cold air, and the only sounds were the steady rhythm of sorhox footfalls, the creak of the saddle, and the occasional call of a bird. The scent of pine resin filled my lungs, sharp and sweet at the same time.
“What do you do for fun back home?” Becken asked.
The question caught me off guard. “I don’t really have a home base. I travel from contract to contract.” I paused, realizing how rootless that sounded. “I mean… I have an apartment, but I’m not there much.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“New York City.” I fixed my gaze between Dester’s ears, watching how they flicked to catch sounds I couldn’t hear. “My parents died when I was five. Car accident. I went to live with my aunt and uncle, my mother’s sister.”
