Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (ebook e reader .txt) 📕

through the clouds to shine down on our lost sheep. Drawn to the blooming purple flowers, it had wandered down the slope, near the cliff’s edge.

“There she is!” Papa tugged on Royale’s reins as he held up a hand to the rest of us. Our border collie, Valiant, barked beneath him.

Pierre pulled his horse, Diamond, to a jarring halt. His arm snaked around my back to keep me from falling off, pressing me closer against him. His father, Monsieur Leóne, followed 50

suit and stopped Ruby, who shifted awkwardly beneath his weight. The four of us paused at the crest of the hill, at the edge of the forest.

I clung to Pierre’s warm back, the best protection against the biting cold. The broad grassland below was bathed in sunshine, lush and green and deadly. We saw where our sheep had broken through some taller grass and nibbled its way near the cliff. Beyond its rim, the distant mountains stood guard in a hazy mist. I could barely make out the well-girded wooden bridge that connected them, as it disappeared in the fog halfway across.

“Careful now,” Papa said. “Don’t scare it.”

He started down first, leading Royale step by step, careful not to stumble. Valiant padded obediently beside him. I peered around Pierre at a huge hole in the ground, that looked as though some giant had taken a bite out of the hill. I hoped Papa and Valiant wouldn’t fall into it.

I pressed myself closer, giving Pierre a gentle hug. “Thank you for holding on to me,” I said.

“No problem, Red,” he whispered back.

I smiled. “You know I can’t wear my cloak anymore, Pierre.” I didn’t count the burlap shawl as a cloak, as I pulled it closer about my shoulders.

I had just turned eight years old, but I still wasn’t allowed to wear anything too bright outside.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll always be ‘Red’ to me.”

Pierre was the only one who still called me

‘Red’. I had worn that scarlet hooded cloak 51

everywhere, even indoors, for two straight years. I had swept into every room, beaming as the cape fanned out behind me. Wrapped inside it, I always felt as if nothing could harm me. No degree of cold, no sad news, no fears. I felt the same way whenever Pierre called me ‘Red’.

Papa and Valiant drew closer and closer to the sheep. It seemed to take forever. I wanted to jump down from Diamond’s back, rush down the hill and scoop it up myself. But, as Papa often reminded me, I needed to learn patience. My foot shook back and forth against Diamond’s flank with anticipation. Diamond whinnied, annoyed.

“Helena, stop!” Pierre whispered.

“Sorry.”

The sheep jerked its head up at the sound.

Papa stopped Royale and waited, neither he nor Valiant moving. The sheep finally returned to its grazing. Papa turned slowly to look up the hill at us. I swallowed, feeling my cheeks burn.

He continued down, one hoof at a time, as the sheep nibbled at the grassy slope.

I stared again at the giant hole. “What’s that?” I whispered.

Pierre leaned back to my ear. “Probably left over from the war, when everyone started invading. People had to find all sorts of places to hide away. This must be one somebody dug out.”

I pressed against his back, pulling him tight. “Mama told me we had to hide when I was a baby. She wouldn’t tell me anything else about it, though. But I remember looking up and seeing a wide door open above me. There was a big ramp 52

with steps leading out into the sun. I think I was only three years old.” Diamond shuffled his feet and whinnied again. Papa turned sharply and looked right at me. I shrank back behind Pierre.

Papa continued down the slope and pulled Royale to a stop, about fifteen feet from the sheep.

He clicked