He was not as tall as her father, but his coloring was far more interesting to look at than the deep, coal black of Kisei’s coat. Spots slung over his shoulders and danced down his back, hindquarters, and hind legs. A thick spotted strip crawled down his nose and his tail was two-toned like his mane. He was striking, and had Dynalia not been so aware of how lost she felt in the world with the absence of her sire and the sudden abandonment of Dawson, she might have found him alluringly attractive.

As it were, she trembled to see his bulk through the trees and breathed a small sigh of relief when he stopped at a fair distance from her. Returning his head-bob with a slow inclining of her own muzzle, the bay mare hoped she struck a regal pose. With luck, he would not notice the trembling of her velvet lips or the restless swiveling of her dark ears. “My father, the King of Luthien, rules this land,” she informed the stallion in a voice that sounded weak and tinny beneath the silent observation of the great trees of her home.

Her nostrils flared and she sucked in a compulsive breath. It hurt that her father’s scent was no longer hanging about the trees, and she choked momentarily on a sob. Clenching her eyes shut for a moment, Dynalia took a slow, shuddering breath and leveled her dark gaze at Bondurant. “At least, he used to. Please, tell me, who have you taken this forest from?” she begged.

So much for dignity.