precious feet.”
“Relax, otter,” the stallion said. “You are not my type.
Now if you happened to be a Percheron, or a Clydesdale,
or maybe a shire…” He let the images trail off.
“If you have to worry about something, think about
Hathcar,” Jon-Tom instructed the otter.
Mudge did so, though he still kept a wary eye on their
mount. Later, his confusion was broken by the sound of
distant thunder. Or perhaps it was only a bellow of
outrage.
Silky’s parents kept the money already paid to them by
Hathcar, and as Jon-Tom surmised, the cuscus did not try
to take it back by force from the heavily defended town.
There seemed no way for him to vent his rage and
frustration until it occurred to him that since the girl had
truly done her best, if anything she actually deserved a
bonus.
So it was that while Silky did not get her much-desired
candy, she was the only girl in the village who could look
forward to the coming winter confidently, clad as she was
in her brand-new wolfskin coat.
The travelers stopped in late afternoon. The roast that
Mudge had risked his life to salvage was almost gone, but
Roseroar soon brought in enough fresh food for all. Drom
nibbled contentedly at a nearby field of petal pedals. Each
blue-and-pink flower produced a different musical note
when it was munched.
Mudge ate close to Jon-Tom. “Don’t it bother you,
mate?”
“Don’t… doesn’t what bother me?”
The otter nodded toward the unicorn. ” ‘Im.”
Jon-Tom bit into his steak. The meat was succulent and
rich with flavor. “He saved us once and might save us