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

hung alongside him, one foot in the stirrup, the other dangling in the air.

Mama dropped her sewing. “Helena!”

“It’s all right, Mama. I’ve been practicing.”

She was still standing with her delicate fists clenched as we trotted up to her, her eyes bulging as I jumped down.

“See, Mama? I’m fine.”

She said nothing. Just stared at me, her breathing shallow and rapid against the lace bodice of her dress.

Crimson snorted and turned toward the forest. I glanced back to see Papa approaching on Royale. A thin animal carcass, tied to the rear of his saddle, scraped a trail through the piles of dead leaves behind him. “Papa!” I called.

90

He waved toward us and continued plodding closer. He always seemed to ride home slowly after a hunt, and this one had obviously been difficult.

I turned to Mama. “Can I ride over the hill?

Just to the other end of the meadow?”

“You know you can’t. Especially near dark.”

“Papa goes out.”

“Papa hunts.”

Royale trudged closer through the scraping leaves. I climbed back onto the saddle and urged Crimson to race toward him. “Papa! I learned a new trick!”

“Helena, wait!” He held up a hand, looking alarmed.

“It’s all right, I can do it!” I called as we drew near them. “What did you –?”

The carcass behind them was a black wolf.

Crimson whinnied. I tugged back on his reins and gasped, as his hooves kicked up dirt and leaves. Crimson snorted and stomped again. I patted his head to calm him. “Papa! What –? Why did you –?”

“I was chasing a rabbit. So was this thing. I missed the rabbit but shot him.” His face turned to stone. “It’s meat.”

I settled Crimson down with some effort.

Then I made him canter forward at an easy pace.

We paused behind Royale and I stared at the silent animal while Crimson quivered and snorted beneath me.

91

The wolf’s claws were open, as if they could still strike. The twisted jaws and fangs looked ready to devour. The open, unseeing eyes stared mindlessly at the sky.

They were not blue-gray.

I steadied my breathing as I studied the wolf. The wolf Papa had brought to our home.

“It was all I could find,” he said in a softer tone.

I focused on breathing in and out. In and out. “I understand,” I said. I turned Crimson away and urged him back to the cottage. Crimson tossed his head and gave another snort of agitation. He surely felt the same rage, seeing the creature that took his own mother from him last year. Though this animal was different from that monster. This was just an ordinary wolf.

Mama gasped as Papa arrived at the front stoop. “Henri! What on earth –?”

“All I could find,” he repeated. “Couldn’t let good meat go to waste. It’s dinner.”

The sun continued to sink toward the horizon. The sky would grow black in another few hours and we would shut ourselves inside. I half-turned. “It’s dead?”

“Of course,” Papa said. “I shot it.”

I looked back at the horizon, shivering, though not because of the evening chill. “It’s all right,” I said.

I heard Papa climb down from the saddle.

Heard him untie the animal. The animal I didn’t want to see, though I already saw it in my every nightmare.

92

I set my jaw. “Turn,” I ordered Crimson, tugging his reins.

We turned about to face it. The long black animal that could no longer harm anyone or anything, because Papa had shot it. It could no longer attack me, except in my dreams. It was dead.

Crimson bristled beneath me, but he settled as I stroked his flank. As we faced the wolf together.

Papa carried it to the carving table next to the sheep pen, as Crimson and I watched. Mama wrung her hands and followed him. I climbed down from Crimson’s back and led him toward them.

Mama stared at the furry beast stretched across the flat surface. I heard Papa mutter, “It was the best I could do, my dear.”

“I know,” she murmured back. She heaved

a slow sigh, then held out her hand.

Papa tugged the cleaver up from the