“Ever herd any sheep this size?” Rollan wondered, rising to cross to his horse.
Conor laughed. “We had some beauties, but none made tracks like this.”
Rollan swung up into his saddle. He glanced back at the prints. “Are we sure we want to find this thing?”
Conor shrugged. “If we want the talisman.” He kicked his horse into a trot.
Rollan nudged his horse with his heels and matched Conor’s pace, staying beside him. “The talisman is supposed to be a Granite Ram, right? At least according to Tarik.”
“Yes. Its powers should have something to do with a ram.”
“We should just sit back and let Meilin handle it.”
Conor laughed. “She was sure something back there.”
“I grew up on the streets of a big city,” Rollan said. “I’ve seen — and joined — lots of brawls. Between kids, between adults. But I’ve never seen anybody fight like her. Not even close.”
“Did you see how quick she punched? She could hit me ten times before I hit her twice.”
“And she’d block both your tries. Mine too. What are we even doing here?”
“I ask myself that all the time,” Conor muttered. “But we have our animals.”
Rollan glanced skyward. Essix was nowhere to be seen. “At least you do. What’s your secret?”
“I talk to him, I play with him,” Conor said. “You see what I do. I’m not giving him secret lessons while you sleep.”
“I talk to Essix when she’s around,” Rollan said. “I feel like she tolerates me. I wish we really understood each other.”
“I don’t know how much I understand Briggan,” Conor said. “We’re closer than at first. But he likes to do his own thing too. Run off out of sight. Sniff everything.”
“But he comes back. And he pays attention to you.”
“Essix comes when it matters,” Conor said.
“I guess,” Rollan said. “I’ve always been pretty good at reading people, you know? I had to be, living how I did. Plenty of seedy folks might have hurt me if I wasn’t careful. But with Essix helping, even more little details jump out at me.”
“That’s useful.”
“I wish I could get her into the dormant state.”
“I have the same problem with Briggan.”
Rollan snorted. “The Queen of Perfection has been doing it since we met her. I’d ask how she managed it if she’d ever talk with us.”
“We shouldn’t be too hard on her. She’s probably just shy.”
Rollan laughed. “That’s one possibility. You don’t really think that’s all it is, though, do you? I know you’re nice, and you were raised in sheep pastures, but you can’t be that oblivious.”
Conor reddened a little. “Are you saying she thinks she’s better than us?”
“I said no such thing . . . but you just did.”
“Maybe she is better than us.”
Rollan laughed again. “You might be right. She sure fights better. She has more control over her spirit animal, she’s rich, she’s prettier, and her dad is a general.”
“We’re all on the same team,” Conor said. “Whatever her background, Meilin joined the Greencloaks just like me.”
Rollan’s face clouded. “I get it. I’m the black sheep. You’re all Greencloaks — I’m not. Why are you always pressuring me?”
“That pressure you feel is called a conscience,” Conor said, holding Rollan in a steady gaze.
“I wouldn’t know about consciences. My mother didn’t teach me much before she abandoned me.”
“My father rented me as a servant to pay his debts,” Conor returned.
Rollan couldn’t believe this was becoming a competition. “Look, my terrible childhood is all I’ve got! Don’t you dare try to top it.”
That won a reluctant smile from Conor. “You never saw my father in a foul mood,” he joked. “But yeah, I guess you win.”
“It’s nice to win at something,” Rollan said.
Later that day, the wind picked up. As clouds gathered, the sky darkened to the uneven color of an old bruise. The afternoon grew colder, and Conor showed Rollan how to wrap his blanket over his cloak.
“You need layers,” Conor warned as he situated his own blanket around his shoulders. “Once you start to freeze, it’s tough to get warm again.”
“Think it’ll get worse?” Rollan wondered.
“I don’t like this sky,” Conor said. “I’ve only seen it like this when harsh weather is coming.”
“You’ve a good feel for it,” Barlow said, approaching on his horse. “If we were on flatter ground, I’d worry about tornadoes.”
“Tornadoes!” Rollan exclaimed. He studied the ugly clouds. Of course there would be tornadoes. Otherwise fighting the giant ram would feel too easy. “Wouldn’t they be worse in the mountains? We’d get blown off a cliff.”
The terrain had grown more rugged throughout the day. The ravines were deeper and steeper, the surrounding peaks loomed higher, and the evergreens grew in odd, twisted shapes at this altitude. They passed broad expanses of bare rock and jumbled scree. Rollan didn’t like when his horse had to walk near a drop-off, as they were now. He was allergic to the whole falling thing.
“There aren’t as many whirlwinds in the mountains as you’ll find in open country,” Barlow said. “But that doesn’t mean things won’t get nasty. We could get a windstorm. Rain. Maybe a blizzard.”
“We could probably take shelter against that precipice up ahead,” Conor said, pointing. “It’s angled to provide some overhang, so the rain can’t fall straight on us. Unless the wind changes, it should shield us quite a bit. The little pines by the base will give us extra protection. And there’s plenty of higher ground in the area to draw off lightning.”
“Whoa!” Barlow exclaimed. “Somebody has spent some time outdoors!”
Conor dropped his head, but Rollan could see he was pleased. “I used to herd sheep.”
“Monte!” Barlow called. “Conor thinks we should pause at the base of that precipice until we see how the weather is turning.”
Monte stopped his horse and scanned the area. “The boy has some sense. I agree.”
“Just you wait until we have to scrounge a meal in a bad neighborhood,” Rollan told Conor. “Then you’ll be glad I came along.”