Page 128 of Set It Right
Or maybe my horse had heard something I hadn’t. In the next moment, I caught movement to the right, and my heart leaped into my throat.
A chestnut coat caught in the early morning light.
“Dusty,” I breathed.
She was grazing, and she was alone. I whipped my head back and forth, and it quickly became clear Cormac wasn’t nearby.
I swung down before my horse fully stopped, my boots hitting the dirt hard. “Dusty,” I called softly, trying not to spook her.
She lifted her head, ears twitching, and let out a soft nicker. She barely paid me any attention as I approached and looked her over. There was no blood, no sign of injury. The saddle was still on, though one stirrup hung twisted, the leather scuffed, and her reins trailed loose.
My hands shook as I ran them over her neck, her shoulders. “Where is he?” I whispered, pressing my forehead to her warm coat.
What could have happened? Dusty was one of our calmest mares. I couldn’t picture her reacting in a way that would cause Cormac to get thrown, but the twisted stirrup was a signsomethinghad gone wrong.
I mounted again, leading Dusty alongside me, scanning every inch of earth, braced to find him after every turn, disappointed when there was nothing but empty, brutal land.
Eventually, we reached a fork in the trail. One path continued up along the ridge, and the other dipped toward the river.
Which would Cormac take looking for me? Would he think I’d go to higher ground or follow the river?
As soon as I asked the question, I had the answer.
“To the river and back,” I whispered.
That was where he’d go. Where he knew I’d find him. We always found each other there. The words were part of our skin.
If he’d been hurt or disoriented in the dark, he’d head somewhere familiar. Somewhere that meant home. Where he’d be certain I’d go.
I turned the horses toward the river path.
The descent was steep and narrow. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my fingertips gripping the reins.
The land was more verdant close to the water. A few trees dangled their leaves over the shimmering river. Rough, haphazard bushes clung to boulders, and small patches of cheatgrass broke through the unforgiving dirt.
Blood roared in my ears as I reached even ground.
“Cormac?” I rasped.
It wasn’t loud enough. It barely felt real. Like if I didn’t shout hard enough, the world might decide he wasn’t here.
I swallowed, dragged in air that tasted like river and ash and fear, and screamed.
“Cormac!”
His name split open the morning, ricocheting off the trees and rolling down the water. I waited there, shaking, listening, heart pounding so violently I thought I might pass out before I ever found him.
Please. Please. Please.
Then, just as I’d pulled in another breath to yell his name again, I saw it. Movement beneath the shadows of the trees. And I knew.
My breath left me in a broken sob.
We tore toward the riverbank, and I didn’t wait for my horse to stop. I hit the ground hard, stumbled, caught myself, and ran.
“Cormac.”
He was slumped against the trunk of a tree, one leg bent awkwardly, the other stretched out in front of him. His hair was damp and matted to his forehead. Dirt streaked his cheeks. A thin line of dried blood tracked from his temple toward his ear.
