To Race the Wylde Wynd Chapter 4

To Race the Wylde Wynd Ch. 4

Templer walked through the kitchen and stepped out of the back door into controlled chaos. Chrysta had driven a heavily laden wagon into the courtyard. She was in the process of swinging the team of drafters around so they could back it into the barn. A young man had two other destria on leads and was working at getting the two excited animals into a holding pen. Another stable-man had opened the barn's wide double doors. He shouted directions as the woman carefully eased the big, fully loaded wagon in.

As the Priest strode up, the animal nearest to him caught his scent and shied sideways into the heavy shoulder of its team mate.

“WHOA... Joshua, you big oaf!”

Chrysta yelled and tightened her hold on the reins. The other member of the team pinned the squirrelly beast with one evil eye and snapped blunted, silver capped black fangs at its' straining shoulder. Looking suitably reprimanded, the beast settled down. It glanced at the gunman with a remarkably intelligent and reproachful look on its' long face. The Talon gave the pair a wide berth as he approached the wagon. HOLY... the Priest had not realized how truly big the draft animals were. Their withers towered over his six foot five inch frame by a good seven inches. Powerful, heavy boned bodies rippled with the thick muscling required for pulling loads that could weigh up to ten tons over long distances. The team had heated up on the trip in. Templer realized that the warm, spicy scent he had noticed the night before originated with them.

Chrysta wrapped the thick reins around the brake lever and set it. The two stable-hands began unloading the sacks of feed and the equipment that took up the entire wagon plus some. The woman climbed down from her high seat, grimacing as she put her hands on her hips and stretched. Constantine winced at the sound of several loud pops and cracks as her spine realigned itself.

“Oh... I do hate festival week.” Chrysta flashed a tired smile Templer's way. "Why don't we go in and get a cup of coffee while the boys unload this."

For a moment, the gunman thought about throwing Grant back under the proverbial coach. Then, figuring that the other man would be making most, if not all of his meals in the next week, he thought, it would be best if he tried some delaying tactics. The Priest looked towards the two destria confined together in one paddock.

"I have never been up close to one of these guys." He walked over to the fence. Both destria eyed him with suspicious looks from the other side of the enclosure.

“Do they belong to you?”

Chrysta turned towards him with an expression, much like the destria's, on her face. She joined the gunman at the fence.

“The two drafters belong to Don Ricardo. These two are mine.”

A soft whistle got an answering whuffle from the smaller of the two beasts who ambled up to the fence. This animal was not as tall as the drafters, much lighter in bone and built with long, clean lines. The bony, cream colored shield on its head was tipped with small white horns. Its' smooth hide was a creamy gold dappled with spots of almost white. A soft feathery mane cascaded down the graceful neck and its' gold tipped with white hue was matched in the flowing tail. Sharp cloven hooves peek out from under the feathering that trimmed long, slender legs.

“This is Nuva, she is one of my oldest mares. She is also as close to trustworthy as these creatures come.”

Chrysta scratched the female's horn ridges as she talked. Nuva leaned into the caress, her blue eyes almost closed in bliss. “You might as well introduce yourself, this is who you will ride later on." The woman stepped back. "Just allow her to smell your hand, and if she wants to taste your breath... let her.”

Templer's eyebrows shot up. He hesitated then used his teeth to remove the glove on his gun-hand. He extended it, palm up so that the big animal could inspect it. The pink muzzle brushed lightly over his skin. Nuva tensed, and snorted, wrinkling her lips as if his scent offended her.

“YAH...!” Chrysta's voice was sharp as she placed her hand over his. Templer stiffened at the unwanted touch. The woman ignored him, never breaking her eye contact with the mare.

“You behave yourself, Nuva!” She slid her hand around until it was under his. Nuva's blue eyes studied the woman's face for a long moment, then she looked into the Priest's dark eyes. Templer felt his outrider stir uneasily. The mare searched his gaze, as if looking for something deep inside him. He was just about to pull away when the destria relaxed, blew out a long breath and gently lipped at his fingers. When she finished exploring his hand, the long nose came up and nuzzled his cheek. The Priest stiffened, very uncomfortable with having those long fangs that close to his undefended face. Remembering what Chrysta had said... he let the breath out he had been holding. The rose colored muzzle brushed his lips. large nostrils flared as the mare drank it in, then blew it back at him. Her breath was warm and sweet. For a moment the man stood still, sharing his breath and receiving hers in exchange. Nuva whuffled and seemed to come to a decision. She dropped her head to push her nose in between his and Chrysta’s hand. Then she rubbed the side of her face along the gunslinger's arm. Chrysta sighed while stepping back.

“Well, I guess you have made a new friend. She wants you to scratch her ridges.”

Templer attentively reached up to scratch along the base of Nuva's small horns. The mare quivered with pleasure and made a soft crooning sound deep in her throat. The texture of her hide was silky and pleasant under his fingers. Without thinking about it, he stretched his blade hand up under that thick mane to gently scratch along her crest. The destria leaned into the caress, her soft pervasive croon deepened, seeming to penetrate to his very bones.

“Hmmm...”
Deep in his Psyche, the Talon's outrider stirred. Templer tried to tighten his mental defenses, not sure if Azra would interpret the odd sensations as an attack. The tight barrier he tried to weave completely unraveled when the demon... purred?

"That's NICE!"
The elemental's rough voice sounded almost drugged. The assassin inside tried to to tell him that maybe he should be alarmed by his... companion's... reaction to the pleasant sensation, but the Talon found that he just did not care. He blissfully continued scratching along Nuva's head and neck.

“Yes..." He agreed with the presence within. "It IS nice.”

“Constantine... Padre... TALON CONSTANTINE!”

Chrysta’s concerned voice jerked the man back to awareness. He felt so relaxed.

“It's Templer... you can call me Templer.”

It seemed like too much effort to peel the warm comfortable layers from around his brain. The Talon made a serious attempt though when the woman shook him eliciting a soft threatening growl from his outrider.

“Come on... Templer. NUVA back off!”

The gunman blinked as Nuva snorted and gave Chrysta a dirty look. The soothing sensation stopped. With a final pink nosed nudge on his arm, the mare tossed her head and trotted back over to her black companion. She held her head and tail high as if she very pleased with herself.

Templer shook his head... trying to shake off the mental fog.

“What in the seven Hells was THAT?”

Chrysta looked surprised and a little perplexed.

“They do that sometimes. We think it is a throwback to when destria used hunted in packs. Now it’s used to strengthen herd bonds” The woman studied the cream thoughtfully. The mare met her gaze without flinching as she continued.
“Nuva must like you. They rarely bond with people and it is unheard of for one of them to bond with more than one person at a time.”

Chrysta shrugged giving the silent pair of animals a final glance. She slanted a sly glance at the priest out of the corner of her eyes.

“Ah well... I guess there is no accounting for taste!”

Before Templer could think of a suitable response, the woman turned on her heel and headed for the Inn. She had not been fooled by his delaying tactics. This was confirmed by the words she threw over her shoulder as she walked away.

“Grant better have that coffee ready by now.”

The gunman followed behind at a slower pace, surprised by how fast the woman could move with that limping gait. He speeded up to match her... hoping that he would get at least one cup of coffee out of the pot!