By Fuyumi Soryo
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Extra resources for Mars, Book 8
I was cradling a shivering Bator in my arms, covering his eyes to keep him from bolting. The old white-robed man signaled for silence and, when only the crackling of the fires could be heard, shook his tasseled staff high in the air. My father spoke to our ox once, then again, sharply, for the animal was swinging its head nervously from side to side and bellowing loudly. Each time it tipped its long horns I could see the rolling white of its eye. Finally, with another of my father’s shouts, the animal pushed into its harness, still swinging its horns, and the women began chanting again and flinging water at us.
His brown eyes were twinkling at me across the bowl he lifted to his mouth. Truthfully, I could not even remember the colors of the new mares, but I said to my father, “They’re beautiful. Both of them. Now can I go choose a horse? ” A worry inside me nagged that, even though the day was just turning light, my champion horse, the one meant just for me, was already being led away by someone else. My father smiled. Then he dressed. And then he went out. “An important messenger from the Naiman tribe may be visiting,” he told me, grinning sheepishly.
He could make spirits talk, make people see things that weren’t real. It was a joke. He was having fun with me. Trying to hide my embarrassment, I walked as straight as I could on my crippled leg toward the fat blue roan, again dozing in the sun. My hands were still shaking as I gathered the reins and a hank of mane and pulled myself into the saddle. As we moved off, something made me turn. I Rode a Horse of Milk White Jade 45 And there was the white mare, her head straining against the tether to look at me.