Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (best books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

hand. I pulled Crimson to a halt. Papa rode Royale a few steps closer, one hoof at a time, his hand still raised to us. Suzette’s pulse thumped against me through her back but she kept still, sucking on her blanket. She would make an excellent hunter one day. As soon as she gave up her fuzzy woolie.

My eyes narrowed on the area Papa faced.

Then I spotted it: a large white-tailed buck emerging from a cluster of trees, bending to nibble some grass. I might never have noticed it through the dense fog without frightening it away, but Papa had a keen sense for subtle movements.

He raised his musket and took aim between the spread antlers.

The deer’s head suddenly jerked up as something pounced on top of it.

Something large.

The enormous shadow spread over the deer, making Suzette scream. I clamped my hand over her mouth as the beast stopped and turned on us.

I gasped.

It was the wolf, black as night. Its blue-gray eyes stabbed into us as its head rose, as tall as the deer’s neck. The buck staggered to its feet and fled, with the monster chasing it.

Papa drove Royale after them.

“Papa, stop!” I cried.

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I tugged on Crimson’s reins. “Hyah!” We galloped after them, my crossbow raised. Suzette squealed and gathered her blanket close to her chest, grasping Crimson’s mane as I goaded him faster. The trees blurred past as I fixed my eyes on Papa and Royale, struggling to keep sight of them rushing through the fog. Ahead of them, I caught shadowy glimpses of the escaping wolf.

“Come on, Crimson. Go!”

Suzette screamed. “Stop, Helena! Stop!”

I ignored her and drove Crimson harder.

Royale began to pull away. I barely caught sight of the wolf’s whipping tail.

As Crimson leaped over a thick tree root, Suzette slid sideways. She hung from the saddle as we sailed through the air. I yanked on the reins and clutched her to my chest as we toppled over.

Crimson fell on my leg like a pile of stones and I screamed. He rose off me instantly, letting my heels slide and fall limply from the stirrups. I lay there and cradled Suzette, trying to stop her from squirming. I bit my lip and waited for feeling to return to my leg.

After a few minutes, I managed to calm her down, assuring her I could still walk. My crossbow lay on the ground near my hand. It had fired its bolt when we fell. There was no time to search for it. “Bring me another bolt,” I groaned.

Suzette got up quickly, smearing away tears with her blanket. She ran to the pouch hanging from Crimson’s saddle and returned with a new bolt. I sat on the ground and put my left foot in the crossbow’s loop. I leaned back and tugged 126

the bowstring taut to arm it, thankful to have one strong leg.

I crawled to a nearby tree for support and stood to my feet. I limped to Crimson and he nuzzled me with his neck, as I lifted my long skirt to check my injury. The purpling bruise on my thigh and knee would spread over the next few days, but it would heal.

A gunshot echoed through the trees. We froze.

I grabbed Suzette and lifted her onto Crimson, clenching my teeth against the numbing pain. Gripping the horn tight, I planted my foot in the stirrup and hoisted myself up, swinging my dead leg over his back. Crimson hesitated at first, sensing my injury, but I urged him on and he tore after Papa with all speed.

It took less than a minute to reach a clearing where we found the deer. Or rather, its head, ripped from its neck and lying in a pool of blood. There was no body.

Near the head, Papa’s musket lay in the dirt, spattered with blood.

I blocked Suzette’s eyes with my forearm and stared at Papa’s weapon. Just stared, holding Crimson in position. Unwilling – unable – to move forward.

I finally turned Crimson away at a slow canter, leading him and Suzette to some thick brush