“It seems to be working.” Henrietta tries measuring her own feelings, not just about the military gossip. I came into this camp, thinking all of you were the enemy. “Kalapati already seems more loyal to this one Vashon, than to any other of our superiors,” she allows. The candid moment seems to please Alaya.
“Do you—” A shared gasp escapes the crowd. Henrietta grabs at Alaya, shoving her behind, and jumps past without thinking, arm extending out toward a child, near the command group, who’d taken a tumble from that railing.
Henrietta’s eyes are drawn to charging horses, moving forward to make a pass. Riders aiming bows down range. But before anyone else reacts, it’s the sub-commander who’s leapt the fence and flashes toward the crying child. The small boy sits wailing and frozen, staring at the approaching horses’ hooves.
Alaya grips Henrietta’s arm, then calls out, “Miguelito!” Tangaroa protects the boy, laying flat across him. It’s a move that looks to crush the crying boy, but in an instant, the horses rush by missing the Maori's calf by inches.
Henrietta’s mouth drops open as one horse easily leaps the two on the ground.
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