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Authors: Meredith Skye
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at times about his own mother and whether she was truly of the Sand Plain Clan or not. In the past, whenever Moorhen had asked his father about his mother, he had said she was dead and refused to talk about it.
The Dry Sea stretched as far as the eye could see--a barren, flat, salty valley, devoid of variation. The morning stretched on as endlessly as the plains they traveled. No one spoke much as they crossed here. The place felt eerie. Sometimes as Moorhen stared out at the white sands, he thought he saw it move, almost as if it was alive.
The sun was high in the sky, and still they had not stopped for lunch. They pressed onward through the white desert, traveling swiftly almost as though pursued by some enemy.
Moorhen rode near the rear. His aunt and uncle, Mirrhia and Derish rode up further ahead of them. Two of his cousins, Rollech and Tylol, followed behind him. His cousins kept a nervous eye on the desert.
A sound alerted them and all three turned to the rear as something lunged at Rollech, knocking him off his mount. The creature was white, making it nearly invisible in this landscape. Moorhen could barely see it. He drew his dagger. Another beast sprang up against Tylol and brought him down. Both Tylol and Rollech were fighting a losing battle against the slim, white creatures whose teeth tore at them.
"Attack!" yelled Moorhen, finding his voice. He looked back, where the creatures had come from and saw a whole pack of the white-furred creatures, their white eyes a bare outline against their fur as they ran towards them. Spurring his yithhe , Moorhen put some distance between him and the beasts. "We're being attacked!" he shouted again. He whirled and drew his bow. Soon he shot at one of the beasts on Rollech, dropping it. Now more beasts caught up and bounded past the two fallen comrades towards the group.
The other clan members had stopped and turned their yithhe to see what the trouble was. They seemed confused, looking for the enemy. The dogs' white fur made them difficult to spot. The beast's name came back to Moorhen's memory-- voltche , salt dogs. He'd never seen one but knew they were dangerous.
Moorhen strung another arrow and shot, missing his target. "Help!" he cried.
Ashtan wasted no time but lunged his yithhe towards the rear as did those closest to him. A moment later, the rest of the clan sprang into action. Soon the beasts were everywhere and Moorhen struggled to get a clear shot. Quickly he rode over to Rollech and Tylol, who lay on the ground. The beasts had moved on to other battles.
Mirrhia fought off two salt dogs. Her husband Derish shot one of them with a bow. She killed the other.
Moorhen's heart pounded as he jumped off his mount and hurried over to Rollech. He was alive, his arm badly wounded. Moorhen felt relieved. A growl gave Moorhen warning and he drew his dagger and whirled to find a voltche leaping towards him.
Moorhen rolled away and the beast missed him but quickly swung around to face him. As Moorhen tried to get to his feet--the voltche lunged.
Determined, Moorhen swung, but missed. The creature caught Moorhen's left arm in its mouth. Moorhen screamed, more out of fear than pain. Such a beast could bite through his arm. They ate flesh, so he'd heard. He cried out again as the voltche bit deeper--but there was no help nearby.
The beast growled. Moorhen was sure that the beast would take his arm. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Moorhen remembered the dagger in his right hand. The angle was not good to stab the beast but Moorhen had no choice.
Grimacing at the pain, Moorhen struggled to get to his knees, trying to throw the creature off but this only made the pain worse, clouding his mind for a moment. Finally he got up enough and took aim at the creature's neck then struck. The dagger sliced open the dog's throat and it cried out. The pressure on Moorhen's arm lessened. He pushed the dagger further into the head and twisted, sickened at the sight of red
The Dry Sea stretched as far as the eye could see--a barren, flat, salty valley, devoid of variation. The morning stretched on as endlessly as the plains they traveled. No one spoke much as they crossed here. The place felt eerie. Sometimes as Moorhen stared out at the white sands, he thought he saw it move, almost as if it was alive.
The sun was high in the sky, and still they had not stopped for lunch. They pressed onward through the white desert, traveling swiftly almost as though pursued by some enemy.
Moorhen rode near the rear. His aunt and uncle, Mirrhia and Derish rode up further ahead of them. Two of his cousins, Rollech and Tylol, followed behind him. His cousins kept a nervous eye on the desert.
A sound alerted them and all three turned to the rear as something lunged at Rollech, knocking him off his mount. The creature was white, making it nearly invisible in this landscape. Moorhen could barely see it. He drew his dagger. Another beast sprang up against Tylol and brought him down. Both Tylol and Rollech were fighting a losing battle against the slim, white creatures whose teeth tore at them.
"Attack!" yelled Moorhen, finding his voice. He looked back, where the creatures had come from and saw a whole pack of the white-furred creatures, their white eyes a bare outline against their fur as they ran towards them. Spurring his yithhe , Moorhen put some distance between him and the beasts. "We're being attacked!" he shouted again. He whirled and drew his bow. Soon he shot at one of the beasts on Rollech, dropping it. Now more beasts caught up and bounded past the two fallen comrades towards the group.
The other clan members had stopped and turned their yithhe to see what the trouble was. They seemed confused, looking for the enemy. The dogs' white fur made them difficult to spot. The beast's name came back to Moorhen's memory-- voltche , salt dogs. He'd never seen one but knew they were dangerous.
Moorhen strung another arrow and shot, missing his target. "Help!" he cried.
Ashtan wasted no time but lunged his yithhe towards the rear as did those closest to him. A moment later, the rest of the clan sprang into action. Soon the beasts were everywhere and Moorhen struggled to get a clear shot. Quickly he rode over to Rollech and Tylol, who lay on the ground. The beasts had moved on to other battles.
Mirrhia fought off two salt dogs. Her husband Derish shot one of them with a bow. She killed the other.
Moorhen's heart pounded as he jumped off his mount and hurried over to Rollech. He was alive, his arm badly wounded. Moorhen felt relieved. A growl gave Moorhen warning and he drew his dagger and whirled to find a voltche leaping towards him.
Moorhen rolled away and the beast missed him but quickly swung around to face him. As Moorhen tried to get to his feet--the voltche lunged.
Determined, Moorhen swung, but missed. The creature caught Moorhen's left arm in its mouth. Moorhen screamed, more out of fear than pain. Such a beast could bite through his arm. They ate flesh, so he'd heard. He cried out again as the voltche bit deeper--but there was no help nearby.
The beast growled. Moorhen was sure that the beast would take his arm. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Moorhen remembered the dagger in his right hand. The angle was not good to stab the beast but Moorhen had no choice.
Grimacing at the pain, Moorhen struggled to get to his knees, trying to throw the creature off but this only made the pain worse, clouding his mind for a moment. Finally he got up enough and took aim at the creature's neck then struck. The dagger sliced open the dog's throat and it cried out. The pressure on Moorhen's arm lessened. He pushed the dagger further into the head and twisted, sickened at the sight of red
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