He seemed to be idling along, but they had all been surprised before and Temujin kept a close eye on him.Īlready some way behind his brothers, the smallest and youngest of them could be heard calling plaintively for them to wait. Temujin glanced over his shoulder to where Kachiun had positioned himself, his balance perfect. Kachiun had a knack with the ponies that few others could match, able to nurse a burst of speed when the rest were flagging. He spoke only rarely and did not complain, no matter what Bekter did to him. Of all of them, Kachiun seemed the most serious, even secretive. Kachiun came next in the galloping line, an eight-year-old not given to the openness that made people love Khasar. His red-mottled stallion snorted and whickered after Bekter’s mare, making the little boy laugh. At ten, Khasar was a favorite in the tribe, as lighthearted as Bekter was sullen and dark. Behind them came Khasar, whooping wildly as he moved up on the two leaders. The eldest, Bekter, rode a gray mare with skill and concentration, and Temujin matched his pace, waiting for a chance to go past. ON A SPRING DAY in his twelfth year, Temujin raced his four brothers across the steppes, in the shadow of the mountain known as Deli’un-Boldakh.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |