Skyre frowned. “That’s wrong. The nails would tell better jokes.”
“Ha, ha,” said Niall with a scowl. “My father will hear about this.”
Skyre sat back, resting his weight on his palms. “It’s alwaysmy father this, my father that. Dinnae ye ken? Niall has the greatest papa in all of Cullach!”
Niall clenched his fists. “You’re just angry you haven’t got one!”
The younger boy smiled, but it was an odd, twisted thing. “Is that so?”
The children did not have time to argue further. Someone called, “Skyre! Come look! Is it for you?”
The boy rose, pulling leaves from the tangles of his raven hair as he looked out to see what was the commotion.
Sauntering back into camp was Rask, and not alone. He gripped the leather reins of a shaggy filly, auburn as the trees of Baine. The boys marveled at it, but none so much as Skyre, whose eyes were wide in excitement. At once, he scrambled over the fence, leaving his shirt upon the post and rushed to his mentor’s side.
“What’s this, Rask? It’s mine, isn’t it?” he said, fingers itching.
“Dinnae ask fool questions or ye get fool answers. A king in training needs his steed,” said Rask.
Skyre beamed, running eager hands over the filly’s soft hide. “Such a gorgeous thing. Look! Come and look at my horse!” he called to the others. They came rushing—all except Niall, who lingered behind.
“That’s a beauty,” said Greyv in equal excitement.
Skyre raked the filly’s mane, smiling into its big brown eyes. “I’ll name her… Saorla.”
“A braw name for a strong girl. Dinnae take her lightly,” said Rask. “You care for her right, you do well by her, and she’ll serve you all her life.”
Skyre nodded, taking the reins. He gave the horse a walk about, proudly showing her off.
“Go on, Skyre! Take her for a ride!” the boys encouraged. The young heir was at first enthusiastic, but then very nervous, though he tried to hide it with a steady voice.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he said.
“Aw no, why? Come and get up!”
Skyre laughed. “I’ll make introductions first.”
“You’re just scared,” said Niall.
Skyre glared at him. “Am not.”
“Sure you are. You’ve never ridden before. Even though you’re nearly ten summers. Most of us have been riding for years already.”
Skyre ground his teeth. “Everything in due time.”
“You’ll probably fall off.”
His fingers dug into the leather. “Will not.”
“Sure.”
“If you’re so great, then show us how it’s done! Niall the Clever, greatest horsemaster in all of Righnach’Dúir!” Skyre thrust forth the reins. When Niall did not come, he said, “You’ll be first to ride the Vaich’s horse. Or will you go and tell your father you’ve refused my honor?”
Niall grumbled under his breath, coming and snatching the straps. “No.”
“Good,” said Skyre. “Have a prance about.” Skyre stood back, crossing his arms over his puffed chest.
Niall gave him a look—one of annoyance, but mostly resent. All the boys treated him nicely. But Niall. It left such a salty taste, that every time he was in camp, it made the day a little worse.
