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

wooden tabletop where he had buried it that morning. He handed it to Mama, then walked back toward the house.

Mama stared at the dead beast another moment before she swung the cleaver down to hack off its head. Blood spurted up and dirtied her lace dress. She didn’t bother trying to clean it off.

I hitched Crimson to the porch and followed Papa into the house. He grabbed his pipe from the mantle and lit it, then sat in his rocking chair, puffing away. I stood nearby but he would 93

not look at me, as he kept puffing and rocking.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Back and forth.

“Papa, teach me to hunt.”

He gagged and coughed a couple of times, his muddy boots stamping the floor as he bent forward. I feared he might choke on his tobacco.

“… What did you say?”

“Teach me to hunt,” I repeated.

He continued to stare at me. Then he looked away, returning to his rocking and smoking. “You don’t need to hunt anything,” he said with a dismissive air.

I relaxed my shoulders and stood taller.

“You won’t always be around. I can’t stay indoors forever. Someday I’ll have to go out. And I’ll have to be prepared, if I ever meet one of them.”

He waved me off. “No,” he said in a harsher tone, his smoke permeating the room.

“You don’t need to worry about those wolves.

They’re not your concern. Duke Laurent will have the King send soldiers to handle them.”

I took a step forward. “Papa. No soldiers are coming. We’re the only soldiers we have.”

He puffed in silence, staring at nothing. He leaned forward and swiped his hand over his forehead. As if he wanted to wipe away everything that had happened. Grand’Mere’s death. My scars.

Francois’ death. All the terror we lived with for the last two years. But nothing could wipe it away and he knew it. I could tell, as he hung his head and shut his eyes.

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“I know you want to protect me, Papa. But even if I stayed here forever, what’s to stop the wolves from breaking in the windows, like they did at Francois’ house?”

His eyes flashed at me in a sudden rage. As if he had never considered that possibility. Or as if he had considered it for many nights since Francois’ death, but knew he could do nothing about it.

“Papa, I need you to really protect me.

Protect me by showing me how to protect myself.”

He stared at the far wall, as if I no longer stood in the room. He puffed at his pipe, the smoke rising in gray wisps. “I’ll think on it,” he said. “Go settle the horses.”

I walked out front, leaving him to smoke, his head in his hand.

I stepped outside and unhitched Crimson.

Then I gathered Royale by the reins and led him past Mama to the stable, settling him in his stall and giving him some water. I stepped outside the stable to catch Crimson’s eye and whistled for him.

He sprang from his place and charged at me in a gallop. He knew how fast to come by how shrill and sharp I whistled. He snorted once at the wolf carcass as he passed, then thundered to a stop beside me. I patted his head and hugged his neck.

“Good boy, Crimson. That was fast. Someday you might even beat Diamond.”

Crimson tossed his head and snorted again, as if he knew I was daring to compare him with Pierre’s horse. I led him back to his stall with my hand on his back, as he shook twice.

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“I know,” I said, petting him. “I know you’re angry about the wolf. But it’s not the thing that killed your mother. It’s just a wolf, and it’s dead. And someday we’ll figure out how to get rid of those things, whatever they are. All right? We’ll make sure they never hurt anyone again.”

After removing both of their saddles, I drew Crimson’s water and petted him some more, wishing I could ease his mind. He continued to stamp and fidget, glancing back at the stable entrance twice. As if the wolf