Are We Truly Saved?

Grak ignored him, aside from his last words and their clues to Kaj'ik's condition. He sent tiny tendrils of magic into her womb, looking for the tainted magic there. What he found was vaguely infant shaped and growing at an alarming rate. It linked to Kaj's own life, siphoning it to fuel its abnormal growth. It was killing her.

The link between mother and "child" was intractable, immovable. There was no way he could see to sever it and purge it from Kaj's body. Grak stared down in the warrior, despair and hopelessness threatening to overwhelm him.

But again, Grak wasn't one to sit idle when he might be doing ANYTHING.

He drew on his own magic, reached out to Kaj'ik's shamanic magic to pull in the natural forces around them. Then he began the delicate task of replacing the corrupt magic with the less toxic shamanic and sorcerous magic.

He found himself mimicking memories from his childhood, his grandfather's delicate and intricate weaving. He used to watch the old orc for hours when he should have been sleeping. He paid for it with knuckle-swats the next morning, but never regretted it. His grandfather was truly an artist, he had decided a decade later, in the human cities with its art galleries and museums.

He put a stranglehold on the magical umbilical cord, encouraged Kaj's own body to produce a normal placenta to give the "child" flesh, siphoned the toxic energy into the corpse next to them until he could find a proper way to dispose of it. The "child" was attempting to use up its "mother" in its own growth. Grak spared a bare second to wonder just what this "child" was supposed to do.

Sweat drenched his robes and dripped down onto the warrior. He desperately wished for some food, but focused on burning through his own fat stores for energy to fuel his... would "purefication" be presumptuous? But there was not time for these thoughts, when toxic magic sought ways to escape his grasp. He bound it into the corpse, mixed green and blue magics surrounding it like a cocoon.

Kaj's breathing eased from its frantic pace. Grak's muscles protested his chronic position, but he tied off the two magics with vicious precision. The warrior was saved.

And pregnant, with... something.

Magic Storm

When magic exploded on the horizon, Grak lost all dignity and stealth. He hiked his robes up around his waist and took off. He went faster than he remembered being capable. Fear lent speed to his feet, knobby green knees showing in the cool Autumn air. The warrior's scream somehow wrung more speed from his out-of-shape body. Air sawed in and out of his lungs like sand-paper, but Kaj's scream did not stop. As he drew closer, the whirling, mixed magic brought tears to his eyes. It became harder and harder to see.

But he didn't need his eyes when he could follow that pain-filled scream so easily.

He had to pull up short when the magic storm threatened to scrape his skin from his bones.

He could only wait.

Yet waiting patiently wasn't really in Grak's nature. He summoned a tendril of his own magic and extended it toward the maelstrom, sought to understand it and why it produced that dreadful scream of pain from such a strong warrior. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow as he struggled to keep his touch gentle as not to be scorched by the angry magic.

Grak attempted to "taste" the different elements. The colors were a clue for the origin of the magic, and he understood the green to be shamanic, from the living things around them. But the red and black were unfamiliar.

As his tendril sank deeper into the storm, Grak's horror grew. He tasted blood and hatred and the single-minded drive for vengeance. He sat down hard, knees no longer properly working. He couldn't even yet tell what the magic was doing.

He just knew that much hate couldn't be for anything good. He detected two human lives in the midst of the howling magic, one that was definitely his warrior, the other fading fast as he poured his own life force, hatred, and drive into Kaj'ik. Grak struggled to understand the things before his eyes.

Before he could truly grasp it, the storm blew away.

The two humans dropped to the ground. Kaj could not longer scream, her throat raw and unable to produce much sound. She struggled to her side to stare at the other human, an old man. She gasped for air, struggled to speak. "What- why?"

The old man cackled in what sounded disturbingly like glee. "You escaped the destruction of our people, traitor. You escaped it and did not enact vengeance. Maybe if you had, we wouldn't be here today. Maybe I wouldn't be bent like an old man, perhaps I might have been able to father a real child. But we'll never know, will we, coward? Instead of the mother of your people, you will be the mother of revenge." His crackling voice faded with his strength.

Kaj screamed again, the tortured sound that left her ruined throat would haunt Grak for all his years. He dove to her side, magic encompassing his hands as he tried to find the source of her pain. His eyes widened in horror as her armor creaked, giving way before a slowly swelling abdomen.

The old man cackled again, but the sound died away as he took his last breaths.

Vengeance

Her hand twitched toward her weapons, but fell again to her sides. What was the point? He wasn't wrong. It was on top of her mind to just keep going, let her master and the other villagers think she'd perished on her quest.

But you can't outrun fate, no matter how hard you might try.

"Cowardly Kaj, truth hurts, doesn't it?" He taunted. "You escaped punishment then, but don't worry your pretty head. I've come to fix that. I've been waiting for you." A tiny skull dropped from his hand, a dead infant. It took several horrified moments for her to notice the rusty red hair wrapped around the eye sockets. HER hair.

Her gaze shot back to Jola, but he was right there, next to her, clawed hands around her arm. Green, black and red magic surrounded them in a storm of wind and pain. She may have screamed, she couldn't hear herself above the yowl of the storm. Then her world narrowed to the pain coursing through her blood.

Survivors

"Kaj’ik Talani?"

She gasped, jumped to her feet, knees still unsteady. Her eyes widened at the person behind her. He was bent nearly in half from age and other things that had wrecked his body, but his face was unmistakeable beneath the wrinkles.

"Jola?" she whispered. "You're alive? How? Did anyone-" she strangled the words before she could complete them. There had been SO MANY bodies. Surely his survival was more miraculous than her own. "You're alive," she said more firmly. "I... I am glad to see you." Though his presence didn't alter her decision much. Hopefully he had found some sort of new life after the loss of their people.

"Survived?" His voice dripped with awful bitterness. "Survived," his softer words sent a chill down Kaj's spine. "I suppose you could call it survival," he said.

Kaj took half a step back without thought. "What-" she paused, licked her lips before she continued. "What happened, Jola? I came back and everyone was dead."

A terrible smile pulled his lips into a grotesque mask. "Oh, that's right. You were on you VISION QUEST." Spittle dotted his lips, his eyes grew wide with contempt. "Poor little Kaj, completely missed all the FUN." He rested his chin on his walking stick, and stared at her.

Kaj wasn't sure, but she might have been staring down straight crazy. "Jola, what HAPPENED?" her voice was no more than a whisper. "The (orc village, wtf did I name them?) was here when I returned. They.. they didn't let me see. Just said that everyone was dead."

Any doubt she had about the remnants of Jola's sanity evaporated at mention of the orcs. "The ORCS told you? You didn't see for yourself? You didn't see what you'd abandoned your people to?" At her startled gasp, that skeletal smile returned. "Oh yes, you think I didn't know you planned on leaving us? Running away like the little coward you are?"

Old Bones

Kaj knew the way by heart, her body moved the familiar path without much conscious thought. Tears threatened again, but a quick pinch to her thigh held them back. She would NOT cry again, there wasn't time, and she hadn't the patience for any mewling, even from herself. She was there before she knew it.

The skeleton of her village made her cry out in pain. It was worse than the last time she'd been here. Though how it could be worse without bodies littering the ground, she couldn't say. A scream built in her chest. Why it lodged there, she couldn't say. It wasn't like she hadn't always known how unfair life was. What did it matter?

She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

She picked her way through rotting wood supports and hide that had faded to paper thinness. It was a ghost of its former self, much like the sole survivor. She walked down the central lane to the her master's yurt. The colors had faded to a shocking degree. Two years was longer than one would think, it seemed.

She held out a cautious hand to the bright fabric door. To her horror, it disintegrated beneath her fingers. The scream that lodged in her chest choked out as a sob. Maybe she had more tears after all.

Kaj dropped to her knees, unable to stand the internal pain any more.

Stealth

Her attempts at stealth were wasted on a sorcerer with insomnia and excellent night vision.

Grak followed at a very cautious pace. He didn't want to interfere, he told himself, just observe this crazy warrior. He he tried to imagine what she might be doing, sneaking out of the village like a thief in the night.

But thoughts quickly lost priority as he fell further behind her trail. The woman must have the eyes of a cat, he thought as he stepped in something slimy. He slowed, attempting to keep her trail without alerting her any more than he might have already. He was already afraid he'd left a trail of his own wider than a tree trunk.

The forest grew thicker, the air grew thinner, harsh pine green overtook the nearly bare trees with leaves just fallen. Grak grabbed a handful of needles to chew, as he hadn't brought any food in his haste.

Escape from What

She expected some sort of fulfilment.

Instead she felt completely empty.

Why didn't that hollow part of her, the aching emptiness that had kept her awake at nights for so many years, why didn't it feel any smaller? Instead it was a new pain. Just as raw.

Maybe she would never heal. Maybe she should head up into the mountains and lay down with the rest of her people. Their time was passed, it was time for a new people to rise up. She was just one broken woman who had abandoned her people. There was no revival, no resurrection.

Soft snoring on either side of her, fabric partitions keeping her separate from her hosts. The orcs here, they were far more civilized than her own people, for all they shared many traditions and habits. They had language and literature. Her own people hadn't even had a written language, just the traditional stories.

Oral tradition, almost all of it was gone now. Because she had been a selfish child.

But if she'd been less selfish, she'd be dead too.

So yes, maybe it was more than time for her people to leave this living world.

Kaj dressed in silence, only the slide of fabric, leather, and fur against skin making whispers of noise. She was at least trained well as a hunter, nobody should notice her leave. She'd even learned how to quietly operate the monstrous wooden doors the orcs preferred to proper yurts, with their fabric door flaps.

She was at the walls before very long at all. Getting over the wall without notice was child's play. It actually made her quietly worried for the village. But it wasn't her concern, she had a goal and would accomplish it as the last thing she did. Perhaps then the pain would stop choking her and she could finally just sleep.

Closure?

It was at dinner that Grak finally got some insight into his warrior.  Sooj, the village Matriarch of Justice, delivered the news.

“The last of Vok’s band has been brought to justice,” she said in a deceptively melodic voice. “With her death, the Sundance are avenged.”

Grak had never seen a woman close off so quickly and completely. Her eyes rested on her plate, unseeing, and did not move. “You are certain?” she asked in a choked voice.

Rather than taking insult at the doubt, Sooj nodded firmly. “We questioned her to be sure.”

Kaj stared at her half-eaten food, her knife and spoon in her hands. Grak waited for some reaction, joy, anger, relief, anything. Instead she continued to stare.

He looked down at his own nearly-empty plate. He almost held his breath as he waited for her to move again. Finally, she scooped up a spoon full of mashed roots.

“Well, I suppose that’s it then.” Her voice shook, which she attempted to cover up by shoving the spoon into her mouth.

Sooj kept her eyes away from the human warrior. “We gave them last rights, scattered their ashes at the Burning Meadow,” she said, between casual bites. “You can go, let them know.”

Kaj nodded before the Matriarch finished. “That would be good, I think. Tomorrow, I’ll head out at first light, if someone from the night watch would be kind enough to wake me.”

A murmur of assent rumbled through the hall. Grak polished off his food, watching the orcs watch the human. There was an odd, protective air about them. It felt distinctly odd, and completely different from his own xenophobic village. He wondered if other humans received similar treatment from the Krak’esh.

The orc to his left elbowed him sharply. "Why are you dressed like a pinkie magicker?"

Grak sighed. That answered that question. "My attempts at shamanic magic were less than adequate," he said simply. "So I followed my talents."

The orc's brows lowered in confusion. "And they just let you?"

That prompted half a smile. "Human academics are in a world of their own. They view every one with suspicion until you prove you're not going to accidentally smash all their experiments."

His expression cleared up. "Then they taught you everything?"

Grak shook his head ruefully. "No, then they let you slave for them as an assistant until they think you've learned something. I believe they call it 'apprenticeship.'"

The other orc  barked with laughter. "Nice to see some pinkies have their heads on straight. I'm Grus, I teach the young warriors the basics. Kids are good for the most part, but sometimes they need a kick in the ass to remember their place."

Comfortable Silence

She knew it was Grak next to her without opening her eyes. She’d like to attribute the knowledge to the superior skills of a warrior, but they’d rusted in the whiskey barrel of her life long ago.

No, it was Grak himself. His presence was unmistakable. It was like his magic bumped against her in a gentle announcement. “Hello, I am Grak, I am here,” it said silently.

She told herself it was irritating. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t move. Instead she sat up, piled her nearly-dry hair on top of her head and secured it with a heart wood hair comb. Something firmed up inside her, and she finally turned her gaze to Grak. “Is it much like your village?” she asked.

He tilted his head toward her, as if her words might escape if he didn’t listen closely enough. “Similar enough. I’m sure some traditions and habits are different, it’s a much different climate here, after all.” He sighed heavily, settling deeper into the water. “I do miss my clan. I haven’t seen my mother or brothers in several years.”

Pain clenched in Kajivar’s chest, but she held back the tears. The thousands that came before had done nothing. New tears would also be wasted. “You should visit them,” she said tightly. “I’m sure they miss you as well.”

His eyes narrowed on her face, and she attempted to smooth away any expression. “It is my intention to return to the South with the thaw,” he said simply. “I wanted …” He looked away from her. “I will see them in the Spring,” he said instead.

The corners of her lips turned up in a sad smile. “I’m glad,” she said. Nobody should waste an opportunity to be with their family.

They spent the rest of their bath in comfortable silence.

Friends?

Grak spotted pale skin amongst the various shades of green and made his way to Kajivar’s side. Her hair splayed on the rock behind her in a drying fall of rust red that darkened to brown closer to her head. At some point, she had clearly lightened her hair, and he wished he could remember the significance of that. He was sure it was part of the puzzle that was Kajivar.

He caught himself before he could fall further into the old orc’s thinking. If the warrior was a puzzle, he most firmly did not want to solve it. That way likely lay complete madness, if her behavior up to that point were any indicator.

Yet he submerged himself in the pool beside her, and said nothing.

Is there a place?

Grak stared after the warrior as the women ushered her off. Clearly, they knew her well. Perhaps this was best.

“You wear the robes of sorcery, tov’rosh,” an elderly orc man observed in a tired, gravelly voice, pulling Grak’s attention back to his own circumstances.

It only then occurred to him that this village might not be as …. tolerant, of his eccentricities as his own. He respectfully put his fists together in front of his chest and bowed his head. “Yes, Elder. I have discovered a talent for the human magic.” And completely failed as a shaman, he did not add. Maybe it wasn’t necessary.

The old orc just nodded thoughtfully. “Have you found fulfilment in your studies?” he asked, curiosity plain in his words.

The question gave him pause. It wasn’t something he thought about. He had a talent for magic, so he attempted to be a shaman. Shamanic spells eluded him, so he studied human sorcery. He was good at it. It never occurred to him to wonder if he enjoyed it. He felt the muscles around his eyes tense as he attempted to answer. “I do not dislike it,” he said slowly. “And I do have a talent for it.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “If I had one wish, it would be to have a greater capacity to help my people,” he confessed.

The old orc’s eyes crinkled at the corners in well-worn lines. “Perhaps you just haven’t yet had the opportunity, youngster,” he said with great amusement. “I am Kagor, I teach the youngest of our shamans. I am glad you found an outlet for your unusual talents.” He held out a hand, inviting Grak to join him.

Grak ducked his head modestly and followed Kagor. “It was a great disappointment to my family when I tested so highly in magical talents, yet failed to master the most basic of shamanic spells,” he admitted quietly.

Kagor shook his head vigorously. “People are not puzzle pieces, they are puzzles unto themselves. And some are more complicated than others. It is the duty of the individual to solve their own puzzle, no matter where that solution may fall. Trying to solve another’s puzzle only leads to disappointment to all involved.”

Grak raised an eyebrow. “Interesting wisdom, Elder,” he said uncertainly.

The older orc laughed out loud. “Don’t mind my ramblings, youngster, I’m just an old teacher who is entirely too fond of puzzles. Building and solving them.” He led Grak to a low-roofed building. “But I should cease my ramble and let you wash the road dust away.” He opened the door to the warm steam room. “We have built a second entrance to the Sona. Sometimes it’s helpful, like when the women take over.”

Grak performed his ablutions in a perfunctory manner, taking far less time than he would in his home village. It was difficult not to linger, it had been so long since he’d had a civilized bath, he wanted to treasure every moment. But he was also curious about the warrior. If he was honest, he felt a little worried as well.

She seemed rather unwell during their journey, and he was certain it wasn’t the lack of alcohol.

Once clean, he walked out to the hot spring enclosure. Steam filled his nose, mouth, and lungs in a comforting cloud. He looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. Winter was almost on them. Soon the snow would start to fall.

Would they still be here when the trails became impassable?

When did he start thinking in terms of “they” and “us?”

Welcome

She sighed heavily as she watched his retreating back. He hadn’t been old enough to braid his hair last time she’d seen him. She started forward with a thought to signal her horse and Grak to follow.

Not that the greedy beggar equine needed it, he knew there was food and a warm stable waiting. Grak, on the other hand...

She didn’t know what to make of the strangely dressed orc. Though, not so strange for him to dress as a sorcerer. She’d witnessed his magics and power. He was completely strange to her. Her people were very close to the Kra’kish, sharing many rituals and beliefs. Unsurprising, given that the peoples had grown up together in the far, icy North.

From the little she’d paid attention to, Grak was strange even among his own people. She didn’t quite know what to make of him.

Then there was no more time to ponder, because the Kra’kesh remembered her, and welcomed her as if to home. Tears threatened to choke her. Tora, the chief medicine woman, put an arm around her shoulder, acting as a breakwater between the clamoring people and Kajivar.

“Hold yourselves back, you barbarians!” she shouted. “Can’t you see she needs some quality Sona time? Back! Back all of you men!” The women of the orcish village closed quiet ranks around her as she was hustled into the steam-house.

She tried to help as the stripped the furs away from her body, but only managed to get tangled. The girl laughed as she carefully worked Kajivar’s hand loose. Hands rubbed a cleansing mixture of plant oil and ashes into her skin and hair before pushing her into the next, hotter chamber. Multiple strathes scraped the cleansing mix from her skin. She sat back in the konsa chair as nearly scalding water was poured over her hair to release the mix from the strands.

Back on her feet, she braced herself. The final urn of chilled water sluiced over her skin. Goosebumps popped out from head to toe, but she felt truly clean for the first time in a long while. It was a far more comfortable Kajivar who walked out to the hot springs.

Submerged to her neck in mineral-smelling waters, tension started to ooze from her muscles. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend to forget.

Greetings

They happened upon an outrider before they got to the orc village proper. He greeted them with a large dose of caution.

“Hello, travelers, are you lost?” he asked.

Kajivar pushed clumped locks of dirty hair out of her eyes. “Badash? ‘Zat really you? Didn’t think you were out for solo patrols yet.”

For several long seconds, the young male looked astonished, then suspicious, then completely shocked. “Kajivar?” Her name was a breath on his lips, barely heard. “You’re alive? I mean, we never found your body, but you’re alive?”

She turned her face away in shame. Her eyes fell on Grak’s boots, peeking out the edge of his robes. He didn’t know. She swallowed with some difficulty and turned back to Badash. “It’s a long story. I was away, when I returned and saw...” she trailed off with a small shrug. “Well, I fell into a whiskey barrel for a while.”

“Two years, Kajivar.” The young warrior turned his horse away from them. “Well, follow me. The Sundance are still welcome among the Kra’kish.”

~*~

ETA: So, nearly two years after I stopped posting, I've started again. I've scheduled posts out every other day until July 24th.

Sundance - Taking out the Trash

Grak bowed his head in aquiesence. She continued her glare for a full second before she whirled away.

"Stupid, show-off orc," she muttered to herself as she stomped her way to the dazed-looking survivors. "How am I supposed to top that? Inconsiderate, I tell you." She kicked a downed body in the plate armor to get their attention.

She gave a satisfied smirk when every last one of them cowered away. A small part of her brain realized that they thought she was the one who'd thrown lightning at them, but she ignored it. "Well, I can't help but wonder why you fine men were chasing after us with bare steel," she kept her voice just loud enough for all of them to hear.

She waited until the whimpers died down. "Now, seeing as  you're a bit... indisposed, if you should begin hobbling back the direction you came, we won't feel the need to finish what we've started. Deal?"

She stood imposingly while every last man turned tail and limped away. The fact that a twelve-year-old weaver's apprentice would be intimidating to them didn't trouble her in the slightest. She watched them until they disappeared into tiny specks on the horizon.

Then she stomped back to the orc. "Well? Keep walking."

Sundance - Taking Turns

She raised an eyebrow at Grak. She opened her mouth to say something, anything. The words, when they finally came, were choked and disbelieving. “Small magic?”

He shrugged. “I did not get them all,” he said apologetically.

Kajivar pulled her short sword from the saddle sheath, unhooked the small round shield.  “Well, it’s only fair that I get the rest, right?”

Grak started to protest. “But, Warrior, you-”

She glared at him. “Stay here,” she snarled.

Sundance - Small Magics

Grak lowered his head in acknowledgement, and turned away. Kaj started stripping away her furs. She tightened the ties on her body armor, adjusted her pauldrons, and readjusted her war skirt so it was no longer quite so personal. She tied her hair back with a strip of leather.

A chill down her spine was the only warning before lightning struck. Heat flashed across her back a split second before thunder crashed through to her bones. Her hands felt frozen, halfway between her hair and her weapons.

The smell hit her first, the odor of seared meat churned into nausea in her gut. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.

Sundance - Visitors!

Welcome to another installment of Sundance, my unedited brainchild that won't leave me be. I'm happy to have you all reading. Though I am curious about the readers. Especially the one from Russia. Feel free to introduce yourselves, I love knowing my words are read. Mostly because my ego is terribly needy.

~*~

"Warrior?" Grak's voice sounded far away, and surely she imagined the concern she heard. "Warrior, I would ask after an injury I may have missed, but it appears that some patrons from the inn last night have something to discuss with you."

Sound returned all at once, angry shouts and the clang of armor on running bodies. "Oh, that doesn't look very good," she said dully. "I suppose I should stand then?"

Grak grasped her arm and helped her up. "If I may, warrior, there is enough room here that I may perform some small magics for defense."

Kajivar nodded. "You do that while I straighten out, I think my armor has taken a crawl up my backside."

Sundance - Sense of Direction

"Hey, stupid, stop," she mumbled. The horse froze in his tracks. Kajivar slid to the ground, holding tight to the saddle horns as her knees didn't want to work right away. The orc was a bit blurry on the other side of the saddle. "You got a name?" she asked.

He huffed in what sounded like amusement. "I am Grak."

"I was a bit drunk at the time-" and might still be a little tippled- "but do I remember you using sorcery?" She couldn't keep the incredulity from her voice. Orcs weren't sorcercers. It just didn't happen.

Grak simply nodded. "I have been a student of sorcery for some years."

Kajivar just nodded. "So..." She looked around, but everything was still blurry. "Where are we going?"

"I am heading to pay my respects to the Kra'kish," he said. "You are welcome to join me."

She wasn't sure how it was possible to stumble when one was standing still, but Kajivar found herself on her ass at the gelding's hooves. Her head swam with too many emotions to identify. Except despair, that one was familiar and unmistakable.

Sundance - Hangover Memories

It wasn't the first time she'd woken face-down over a saddle, Kajivar admitted to herself. Though it was a bit of a change not to be tied hand and foot. Booted feet under muddy brown robes walked at the gelding's head. Kaj struggled to remember who it might be.

Oh.

The orc.

The tavern.

Her people.

Pain shot through Kajivar's body at the memory. Though two years passed, the burning loss felt new and raw.

Two years exactly, with this sunrise.

This bright, bright sunrise. Kajivar gripped the pommel of her saddle with one hand while she fumbled in the saddle bag with the other. She was pretty sure there was at least one left.

"Such action is not advisable, warrior," the orc rumbled.

Kaj grabbed hunks of hair to move them out of the way so she could glare. "What would you know of it?"

If he was smiling she would have to kill him, hang-over or no. "At least as much as you know of me," he said quietly.

Sundance - Grak to the Rescue

Grak sighed heavily. If he was honest, he was rather glad she'd passed out before his big confession. He retrieved his tray of herbs and crouched next to the warrior woman to begin his healing.

The innkeeper stomped in as he finished. "I thought I told you to get the hell out," he snapped.

Grak sighed again. "The warrior needed a bit of healing first, good sir," he said placatingly. "We will vacate your establishment momentarily."

The dwarf stared at him like he'd sprouted another head.  "Just get off my property," he rumbled, irritated.

Grak sighed. "Of course, good sir." He lifted the warrior's saddle from the stall and turned to the horse. The gelding flattened his ears at the orc. Grak mimicked the gesture and let out a warning growl. The gelding lowered his head and blew at the ground. Grak saddled him with no difficulty.

No, the difficulty was in getting the horse's master into that saddle. Grak eyed her slumped form critically. He poked the furs around her shoulders. They were a bit dirty, but not infested. He used them to wrap her up like a sausage and tied her belly-down over the saddle.

It would be most displeasing if she died of the cold after he'd healed her wounds.