He was hurtling through space, his wings broken and tattered, limp and useless at his sides.
He broke through the clouds, and the ground rushed toward him. He screamed, and tried to flap his arms, to slow his fall, but nothing worked.
When he hit the ground, his leg snapped. A horse snaffled urgently at him. Somehow, he got to his only foot. Koha stared at him.
Cris reached for the bridle that floated in empty space beside him, and tried to put it on Koha. The horse snorted and trotted away from him, then stopped to look at him.
Cris hopped toward Koha, and the horse started walking slowly, looking back over his shoulder every once in a while.
Hopping, Cris followed the horse, and suddenly they were in a long ruined hallway filled with massive stones from the walls. Koha jumped easily over them, and began disappearing into the gloom.
Cris wanted to yell "wait!" but no sound would come out.
He tried to climb over the stone, to follow Koha - back the way he came was only the never-ending
The Warhorse Shabdiz - Chapter TwoCHAPTER TWO
One day, when I was very young, a river of strange men with white skin flowed past our home. Some rode upon horses, others walked on foot, but all gleamed and glittered with scaled arms and legs of silver. They jingled like the jewelry of my master's wife, and left me quite afraid.
My master, seeing my distress, was quick to reassure me, stroking my forehead with those gentling hands. He was always tender this way, as quick to comfort me as my own mother.
Soon, one of the strange men approached. He spoke in a way I had never heard before, and smelled strongly of sweat. A white cloth covered his body over the peculiar silver skin he wore. As he drew closer, I could see that the silver skin was rings of metal woven together.
My master invited the man to drink our water, as was my master's custom. The stranger refused. Instead he pointed toward my father, and removed a bag from his belt, shaking it. The noise of his arm and the bag shaking clinked and
The rented blue Renault rolled to a stop beside the weather-worn old hangar. Emily's hand paused on the keys in the ignition, and the car sat purring quietly. She turned to look over her shoulder at the uniformed old man in the back seat. "Are you sure you want to do this, dad? I read that a lot of veterans have flashbacks when they come back to their old wartime haunts."
As he reached for the door handle, he felt a tickle at the back of his throat, and covered his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform just in time to cover his hacking cough.
"It might be too much for you," she continued.
A lifetime of heavy smoking and an ungodly quantity of inhaled fuel vapors was on his six like a Messerschmitt. This might be the last chance he had to do this.
"I'll be fine," he said, waving her off.
Captain Hall opened the door before Emily could protest, and swung his feet out onto the crumbling taxiway. The cold wind pinned his coat to his legs. He stood a while, scanning the old airfield. The tow