Glancing at Arien and the witch, he found them visibly as uncomfortable as he felt. Keegan was the only one of them that seemed at ease upon the great beasts. He frowned. The man had sneered at the difficulty Ronan had suffered when mounting. He would not give the horseman the satisfaction of knowing he was having trouble again. Instead he would wait for one of the others to call for a break.

The heat did nothing to ease his discomfort. In fact, it made it worse. The strong smell of the animal seemed to intensify beneath the smoldering rays. Stinking, sweaty, and sore, Ronan’s mood darkened with every miserable moment. When Keegan began to whistle ahead of them, Ronan felt like running him through with the damnable sword he carried.

“Do you think the horses may need to stop? They might need water in this heat?” Arien was the first to break and Ronan let out a breath, for once thankful to hear that uneven pitch in the boy’s voice.

“Not Dulcet horses. They can go for many more hours without stopping,” Keegan called back without turning. Ronan considered asking Ula to throw her Mule rock at the back of Keegan’s big red head.

“Many of my customers purchase Dulcets when traveling the yellow sands of Golythia,” Keegan continued. “There are miles there with no place to stop and drink.”

“We are not Dulcet Horses and apparently they can also hold their water a little longer than some of us,” Ula snapped and Ronan grinned when Keegan looked back and sighed heavily with irritation. Nevertheless, he called for the horses to stop.

Ronan waited until the others dismounted and Ula was well into the trees before finally swinging down from Sorcha’s back. He forced himself not to groan with the relief he felt in his leg muscles. Instead, he checked the pack secured to Sorcha’s saddle, pretending interest in its integrity.