I just wanted to pee and then go back to sleep.

Waking up was sudden and unpleasant the next time. I flailed around, trying to find my alarm-clock button. Despite the darkness I was sure I’d overslept for school. You know the feeling—that heart-pounding knowledge that you’re late. And then the disorientation hit. Even my groggy brain recognized that I wasn’t in my antique oak bed curled up under my down comforter. Sitting up, I blinked hard, trying to accustom my vision to such absolute darkness.

And the sound of water rippling on rock brought me totally into the present.

“Epi?” Relief helped my heart to slow as her muzzle brushed the side of my face. Gradually, I began to distinguish the mare as a light blob in the darkness. She was lying close to my left side. Her sleepy breath smelled sweet and grassy as she explored my face and hair.

“Feeling better, pretty girl?” Not wanting to stand yet, I scooted over to her and ran my hands down her neck and over her back. He legs were tucked up under her body, so I couldn’t reach the sore hoof, but she didn’t feel overly hot, and she sure wasn’t acting like she was in pain.

“Wonder if the moon will come up soon.” I leaned against her soft body, very aware that the cool of the night had not helped my sore, overused muscles. “Man, I could use a hot, soaking bath.”

My stomach rumbled.

“Guess we can’t do anything until it gets lighter.” Epi’s light, horsey snore answered me.

And what the hell did I think we were going to do, anyway? I had no idea how badly Epi had been bruised, but she couldn’t be ridden, that much was obvious. Now what? Using my crappy sense of time and distance, I estimated that we had traveled for ten, maybe twelve hours. We’d been asleep for, I don’t know, maybe eight hours. So, if we were lucky, we were at about the halfway point. And hungry. And tired. And hurt.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, think, forget about my stomach and keep warm.

Taking Epi back to the temple was the only reasonable solution. It would be slow going. Maybe one of those little cottages would be willing to feed Epona and Her Chosen. Goddess Incarnate–hood ought to be good for something. Several days of eating just grapes was bound to do something to my system—the visual images coming to mind weren’t pretty. I could see it now—I’d turn into some kind of pathetic nymphomaniac with violent diarrhea. And no toilet paper.

So, we’d get started at first light. I’d try and get Epi to soak her hoof again, then we’d head back the way we came. Until then I’d better follow Epi’s example and get some sleep—it would be a long next several days. Snuggling as close to the mare as I could get, I shared her body heat. Feeling warmer and sleepy again, I imagined her as a big, silver horsey heater…

At first I didn’t notice the sound. Almost. It was a vague rustling. Not like the too-cool breeze through the tree leaves. And not like the water over rocks. Different.

A twig cracked. I froze and tried to stay still so that I didn’t draw attention to us. But, swallowing around the dryness in my mouth, I was sure the sound of my pounding heart telegraphed “Here they are!” out into the night.

Another twig cracked. This time I felt Epi stir. I could feel her head raise and turn to face the forest.

And I remembered the things. Man-creature things. And how they had made the forest seem to breathe and pulse with their movements. How could I have forgotten?

This wasn’t my world. There were forces loose here that I didn’t begin to understand. While I had been busy Scarlett O’Hara–ing, I had totally overlooked the entire damn reason behind why I had to go to MacCallan Castle. Man-creatures had slaughtered a castle full of people. Strong, courageous men hadn’t been able to stop them. And here I was, meandering around the countryside with my silly modern woman head all in the clouds and my ridiculous modern woman “you go, girl!” attitude.

Burying Dad was a good idea. Making sure he was dead was even better. But getting this mare and myself killed while attempting to be The Good Daughter was decidedly Too Stupid To Breathe. And Dad would be the first in line to tell me so.

The brush crackled again. Something heavy was heading this way. In my mind I could see the creatures, wings spread and taut with air, running with their fluid gliding strides. The moments between noises became prophetic. The pauses in sound were simply time between one hovering stride and another. God I was a moron. Not only was I not going to get to bury my dad, but I might very well be coming to a tragic end that would make those gross bodies on CSI look tame.

Clearly I should have thought this whole thing out.

Epi shivered and surged to her feet. I stood close to her, stroking her neck and murmuring shushing sounds. My mind struggled to come up with A Plan. Neither college nor past experience had prepared me for this kind of numbing fear. So, as Epi and I watched dark shapes detach from the forest and descend down the eroded bank toward us, I did what I always hoped I wouldn’t do in time of emergency. I froze. Like a deer waiting for an eighteen-wheeler to smush it across the highway, I stood there overwhelmed by my fate. I was proud of Epi’s courage. She faced the intruders, ears pricked forward, blowing softly through her muzzle. She showed no fear. Horses are just damn brave animals. I was honored to have her by my side as our death approached us and—

“Lady Rhiannon?” The voice was deep and familiar. For a moment I was surprised into not responding. The gross creature things had voices like ClanFintan?

Epi’s soft nicker of recognition broke my spell of stupidity. At least for the moment.

“ClanFintan?”

“She is here!” he called over his shoulder, and suddenly the rocky bank was alive with dark shapes that looked vaguely horsey. “Get a fire built, it is black as the Underworld this night.”

I could hear brush and rocks being moved, and perhaps even flint striking. All sight was blocked not just by the night, but by a large horse shape directly in front of Epi and me. It spoke. And it sounded pissed.

“Are you injured, Rhiannon?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s Epi, she’s bruised her hoof.”

“Epi?”

“Oh, um, I mean Epona’s mare.” At least I hoped that was what I meant.

Fire flared to life a few yards downstream, and as the centaurs fed it to flame my vision returned. ClanFintan was standing in front of us, arms on his waist (his, uh, human waist), forehead furrowed into a frown.

“Which hoof?” He sounded brisk and businesslike.

“Right front.” I stepped under Epi’s neck, squatted and ran my hands down her leg. “It doesn’t feel swollen or hot, so I think it’s just a bruised frog.” (I peeked up at him—he seemed to understand. Oh, yeah, he should. He’s part horse.) “Take a look.” Epi obediently lifted her hoof and he bent to study it. His strong hands prodded the same spots my smaller ones had examined hours before. Epi gave a soft grunt when he hit the sore spot, and he immediately stopped pressing and stroked her neck, speaking soothing words to her that I couldn’t understand, which sounded musical and lilting, a little like Gaelic. Epi relaxed and sighed as I set her hoof down.

“A bad bruise.” He sounded accusatory. “How did it happen?”