Hooked on Windmaster, A Treacherous Trail, #mfrwhooks

Freezing temperatures, storms of a generation, and inches of snow on Bourbon Street inspire a reprise of bad weather captured in one of my worlds of fantasy. In sympathy with those suffering from winter's rage, a snippit from Ellspeth and Dal on a rainy trail.

Excerpt from Windmaster:

Ellspeth’s world reduced to the shifting gray shadow that was Tairneach. Her eyes hurt from straining to see through the curtain of snow and rain that almost obscured the stallion. She rode with one foot scraping the rocks on the side of the narrow trail while her other hung over a thousand-foot precipice. One misstep and both rider and mount would plummet to the valley floor. The driving rain stung every spot of unprotected skin like a thousand cuts. Icy rivulets ran off her wide-brimmed hat. They sneaked beneath the collar of the lake seal cloak and ran down her neck. Waterlogged, her clothes sucked every ounce of heat from her body. Only where her legs lay against Cadno’s coat did she have vague feeling. Hours of riding in the howling maelstrom of cold and wet had dulled her mind to anything beyond the need to stay in the saddle.

Dal’s bellow penetrated Ellspeth’s consciousness. “This storm isn’t going to stop. Taer can’t take much more of this, and neither can we. There’s shelter not far up the trail.”

Chattering teeth made a reply impossible, so she just nodded. Even that slight movement threw her numbed body off balance. Fighting not to fall into the abyss, Ellspeth dropped the reins onto Cadno’s neck and wrapped nerveless fingers around the saddle horn to let the colt pick his way across a stream of water rushing over the rock-strewn path. The crunch of ice beneath his hooves reminded Ellspeth of the snap of the Sea Falcon’s canvas in a stiff wind. If I can stand on the Falcon’s deck, I can stay in this saddle. She clenched the leather horn tighter with a renewed sense of determination.

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