Renna couldn’t understand his tension. If the boy knew Dancer, he should know the horse was gentle as the dawn. ‘He ent gonna kick or bite you, boy.’

Nik turned and seemed about to say something, but he paused mid-breath, noticing Renna for the first time. His eyes roamed her body, and she wasn’t sure if he was looking at her blackstem wards or the flesh they were painted on. She didn’t much care what he saw, but it was rude, and she put her hands on her hips and gave him a glare to remind him of his manners. The boy jumped and looked away so quickly Renna had to stifle a laugh.

Nik turned to Arlen, blushing fiercely. ‘You tamed him?’

Arlen laughed. ‘Hardly. Dancer’s still the meanest horse alive, but he only bites and kicks corelings now.’

A low whistle came from behind them, and Renna whirled. Without thinking, her hand found the knife handle again. She took it away quickly, hoping no one had noticed.

And I meant to teach young Nik his manners.

The man who approached showed no sign that he had seen. Like the boy, he only had eyes for the horse at first. He approached calmly, giving Dancer time to get used to his presence. The stallion snorted and stamped a bit, but accepted his touch.

‘He has grown,’ the man said, running his hands over Dancer’s heavy flanks. He was tall and lean, with a thick but close-cropped beard. His brown hair was long and braided in back. ‘Must be two hands taller than his sire, and old Rockslide’s bigger’n any horse I ever saw.’ He picked up one of the stallion’s feet. ‘Could do with a shoeing, though.’

The man looked up at them at last, and like the boy he let his eyes range over Renna, examining her as if she were a horse. A low growl formed at the back of her throat, and the man gave a start when his eyes finally met hers and saw her glare.

Arlen stepped between them. ‘Just a look, Ren,’ he murmured. ‘These’re good folk.’

Renna gritted her teeth. Much as she hated to admit it, he was right about what the magic did to a person, even in the day. Passion came quick to her now. She took a deep breath and let her anger fall away.

Arlen nodded and turned to the rancher. ‘Renna Tanner, this here’s Jon Stallion and his boy Nik. Jon breaks and breeds wild Angierian mustang.’

‘Catches and breeds, anyway,’ Jon said, his eyes offering an apology as he put out his hand. ‘Ent easy to tame something that can trample a field demon to death and outrun anything else in the naked night.’ Renna took his hand, but let go quick when he winced at her grip.

‘Know how they feel, sometimes,’ she muttered.

Jon nodded back at Dancer. ‘Take that’un. Caught him as a colt not six months old. Thought for sure I could break the wild out of one that young, but he wouldn’t take so much as a halter, and kicked his way out of the barn more’n once.’

‘The naked night ent forgiving,’ Arlen said. ‘Six months is a lifetime out with the demons.’

Jon nodded. ‘Didn’t think even you could tame him.’

‘Didn’t,’ Arlen said. ‘Just brought him back where he belonged.’

‘Got him taking a saddle and reins, though,’ Jon noted, ‘but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Back then, you were just the crazy tattooed Messenger who saved my boy. Now I hear tell you’re the ripping Deliverer!’

‘Ent,’ Arlen said. ‘I’m Arlen Bales out of Tibbet’s Brook, and I just got more sack than sense, sometimes.’

‘So you have a name, after all,’ a woman said, coming out from the ranch house. She was plain, but had the vigorous look of one used to hard work. She wore men’s clothes – high leather boots, breeches, and vest with a simple white blouse beneath. Her hair was brown and braided back much like Jon’s.

‘Don’t mind the boys,’ she told Renna. ‘Ent gonna talk about much else when there’s horseflesh about. I’m Glyn.’

‘Renna.’ Renna shook her hand, then clenched her fist as the woman embraced Arlen. Was it the magic that made her resent another woman touching him?

‘Good to see you again, Messenger. Can you stay for supper?’

Arlen nodded, showing the first warm smile Renna had ever seen him give another person. ‘I’d like that.’

‘What brings you out this way?’ Jon asked. ‘Ent just for the shoeing, I’d guess.’

Arlen nodded. ‘I need another horse. A filly I can breed with Dancer.’

He looked at Renna and gave her a half smile. ‘Startin’ a family.’

Mack Pasture, who lived up the road from Renna’s father’s farm, had been a horse breeder. Renna visited his ranch often when her mother was alive. It was a good deal smaller than Jon Stallion’s, but it worked much the same. After Dancer was brought to the farrier, Jon led the way towards a great fenced field where dozens of horses grazed under the watchful eyes of mounted ranch hands and barking dogs. On the way, they passed thick, heavy corrals, too high for even Twilight Dancer to jump in daylight, used for training and quarantine.

In one of these, Renna saw a giant black stallion cantering by itself, watched by two nervous ranch hands with ready whips. She stopped short.

‘Ay, that’s old Rockslide,’ Jon said. ‘Dancer’s sire. Caught him on the plain with half a dozen mares and young Dancer. Call him Rockslide ’cause that’s what it felt we’d been through when we finally herded him into a corral.

‘Big bastard won’t do a lick of work, but he’ll kick holes in the barn all night long, you let him. Mean as a demon, and too smart by half. City breeders’ll tell you wild horses ent smart because they won’t follow commands, but don’t you believe ’em. Mustang got their own smarts. Enough to survive the naked night, which is more than most folk can say. Rockslide liked to throw anyone that tried to mount, then trample them into the yard. Retired him to the breeding pen when we got tired of bone setting.’

Renna looked at the magnificent animal, and felt a profound sorrow. You were a king out on the plains, and here they have you running circles in a pen and mounting mares all day. She had to suppress an urge to walk right up to the gate and set him free.

‘Good foaling this summer,’ Jon said as they made their way out onto the field. ‘Lots of fillies to choose from.’

‘Your choice, Ren,’ Arlen said. ‘Any one you want.’

Renna looked out over the herd. At first glance, Jon’s horses looked little different from Mack’s, but as she drew closer and took in their scale, her eyes widened. The foals looked juvenile next to the mares, but even they were bigger than some of the stallions Mack kept. Jon had yearlings big enough for a grown man to ride, and there were no poor specimens. Demons had culled all but the strongest strains, and the remainder were giants, sleek and dark-coated.

There were a number of strong-looking fillies, but Renna found her eyes drawn instead to a grown mare who stood apart from the herd. The mare had a blotchy coat of brown and black, and stood a hand taller than the others. She had a surly look about her, and even the other horses gave her a wide berth.

‘What about that one?’ Renna asked, pointing.

Jon grunted. ‘You got a good eye, girl. Most folk can’t see past that ugly coat. That’s Twister. Caught her last summer, right before the worst windstorm I ever seen. Stronger’n most stallions and barely five years old, she’s tried to get away more times’n I can count. Go near her with a halter – night, go near her at all – and she gets all kinds of mean. Even bit old Rockslide when I put her in his pen to see if they’d get on.’