Amy was exhausted. She had been running at a brisk jog across the savannah since daybreak, as she had every day for the last two weeks, and although her blinders meant she could see nothing, the stifling heat of the sun suggested it was now nearly noon. Amy had been a strong, fit girl even before her capture by ponygirl slavers, but although her owner was a slight woman and travelled light, this was a murderous pace. With every heavy footfall, every desperate gulp of air, she pleaded for the tug on the reins that would tell her to stop for the day. But all that came were smacks of heels against her hips, as her rider scolded her for slowing down.

Legs like lead and lungs burning, Amy could only run on, and on, and on.

Weary and saddle-sore, Raycel rode on through the Wildlands. From occasional ruined landmarks she identified on her battered map she knew she was still a good week from her goal, an eternity in the treacherous wilderness, and Blaze was tiring a little sooner each day. She had only been riding for about four hours today and already the ponygirl's breathing was heavy and laboured.

But although Raycel was tired, she knew that more than any savage creature, carelessness was her worst enemy. To keep herself focussed she set herself challenges. She scanned the plains relentlessly, and practiced drawing her crossbow at speed any time she saw distant movement. Whenever she heard an animal call, she racked her brain trying to identify it. Anything to keep her mind on things that could be threats.

…were those wingbeats she could hear?