Aud, Sig and Xanthos

Only time would tell where Lance, Albie and the others had wound up… or if they’d even survived. Audrey stringently ignored thoughts of them… but the long hours of trekking through endless plains of grass and mud left her with little else to ponder about. It had all happened so fast… one moment, they’d been gathered around a trough, watching Parsley as he trotted around it in that curious fashion of his… next, the skin of the world had cracked open. Boulders of earth tore up around her, panic-stricken horses scarpered and vaulted; Sigmund tried wrestling reins and barking orders… but to no avail. 

Sandhur had tried pulling her to safety… wherever that was supposed to be. But, unfortunately for him, Audrey was witness to an old, tired five-nine landing not five feet from Sigmund.

If she survived this, she’d have no voice for days; her scream tore vocal cords. 

She’d lost track of the others in her haste to risk the metaphorical minefield and reach what she hoped was Sig. The shell had gone off with such force, she’d been knocked to the ground twenty feet away. He’d only been five…

Now, ten hours later, and with Sigmund Fletcher barely conscious on the back of old Xanthos, she struggled to remember how they’d made it out alive… or even how she’d wrestled Sig up into the saddle. Instead, she listened to the haunting swoosh of her and Xanthos passing through this strange blue grass, giving his nose an appreciative pat whenever he’d nicker at Sig’s turbulent brushes with consciousness. “I know, old boy. I know. We’re nearly there. He’ll be alright,” she croaked. 

In truth, she wasn’t sure her field dressing would staunch the blood loss… and she was sure Xanthos knew that as well. But they had to hope. 

Part of The Sharpshooter & The Vet series.