Nolan Wraycroft's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Nolan had his path and his welcome, thin as it was. Then the heir's face went hard. She pointed past the old oak, to a shape down on its side in the grass. Her big gray draft horse lay there, not moving. "He's been down since dawn," she said. "I can't lift him alone." She looked at Nolan, and he saw the trust she'd shown him hanging on this. Nolan crossed the clearing fast. The horse's coat was dark with sweat. Its belly heaved. He knelt and pressed a hand behind the foreleg. The gut was tight as a drum. He'd seen this in draft teams at the mill. Twisted gut, or close to it. A horse that stayed down like this died. "He rolled in the night," she said. "I found him tangled in the picket rope." "He has to get up," Nolan said. "If he lies here, he's gone." He looped the loose rope, freed the horse's hind legs, and got his shoulder under the great neck. "Pull the halter. Hard. On three." They heaved. The horse groaned but didn't rise. Nolan's boots slid. He set them again and shoved with his back and legs. The animal's forelegs scrambled. Then it lurched and stood, shaking, wide-eyed. Nolan kept a fist in the mane and walked it in a slow circle, the way the mill hands did to work a bad gut loose. A voice called from the trees. "That's a Wraycroft holding a Wraycroft's grip on the wrong family's horse." Nolan knew the smirk before he turned. Archer Nyle stepped from the brush, oar over his shoulder, sandals in the mud. The river guide shared Nolan's cottage and shared none of his loyalty. Nyle guided folk through these woods for coin, and he'd guide the wrong folk here for the right price. "Walk him," Nolan told the heir, passing her the mane. "Don't let him lie down." He faced Nyle. "You cross the river to gawk?" "I cross for work." Nyle nodded at the horse, at the girl, at the scarf on Nolan's fist. "Her father pays well for news of trespassers. This is worth two trips of coin." The horse blew a long breath and passed dung into the grass. The belly softened under Nolan's hand. It would live. The heir's shoulders dropped, and she looked at Nolan like he'd handed her something back. "You'll say nothing," she told Nyle. "I'll say plenty." Nyle was already backing toward the trees, oar swinging. "By the time his men walk the ridge, they'll know just who to look for." He grinned and was gone into the brush. The horse stood healed. The trust was won. But midday still came, and now a man was running to bring her father's guns down early.