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This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Silence shook the branches with gale wind force. Holt d’Wyrden perked his pointed ears, careful not to move a muscle. His left hip screamed, shooting agony through his leg. Scents tickled his nose: early-summer leaves, fading flowers and moldering twigs from a bird’s nest lodged above him. Magic, the trickle of water in a creek a few steps from the base of the elm where he’d stretched out the in the wee hours of night, tingled near his toes. After his arrival from Evendon.
Sounds scraped across his sensitive eardrums. A rapid heartbeat and snuffling indicated an animal of some sort. The second pulse registered at the same moment a very human gasp popped Holt’s eyelids open.
Several steps away, a curvaceous woman held the leather collar of a brown and black dog. The beast’s head was as tall as the woman’s thigh. canine’s nostrils flared, scenting him, and the hair on its back prickled.
The woman’s eyes widened. Golden sun at her back haloed her fiery mane, shadowing her features. Berries fragranced the air, mellowing the salty tang of fear.
A low growl rumbled in the dog’s throat.
Holt eyed the beast, so different from the long-haired wolves that ranged the forests of home. Its short hair emphasized the broadness of chest and stoutness of neck. He could stop it in the space of two whispered words but why take chances?
Holt centered his thoughts and reached out to the dog’s mind with them.
I’m a friend.
The dog whined and crumpled to the dewy grass, nearly jerking the woman down with him. Maybe that hadn’t been Holt’s best move. In his sleepy stupor, he’d forgotten animals in this realm weren’t used to anyone touching their minds.
“What are you doing here? Trespassing.”
Years of lessons in the languages of Earth, especially English and Mandarin, made understanding the words simple.
“Why do you answer your own question?” Holt straightened.
“What?”
He cocked his head, staring at the woman who struggled to stay upright without letting go of her pet’s collar. Strange to see animals bound to the will of humans by physical means. Of course, Earth dwellers couldn’t access the magic buzzing in the world around them. Their loss.
“You answered your own question.” His accent was strong, otherworldly. He would need to practice mimicking how the residents of this realm spoke and moved. He had no desire to draw unwanted attention. His sharp gaze grazed the voluptuous figure of the fire-haired woman. Her attention, he would savor.
As if she knew his thoughts, the woman glared between him and the dog. She yanked the collar. “Jewel! Up.”
A pang nibbled at Holt’s empty stomach. He should apologize for the dog. But could he do it without explaining his abilities? He twisted, perching on the edge of the limb, feet dangling against rough bark on the trunk.
The woman shuffled backward until her hand jerked away from the collar. Her eyes widened further and her lips pressed together.
“Did I need permission to sleep in your tree?”
“Sleep in my tree?”
Holt cocked his head again, pressing his eyebrows together. It had been a few years since he’d traveled to this realm. During that visit, he’d stayed in China. He had instructed the mages to transport him to a different continent this time. Were humans in the United States simpletons?
He dropped lightly to the ground and knelt beside the dog. Placing one hand on top of its broad skull, he called to the water magic. There wasn’t much in the trickling stream, but enough to sooth the animal’s mind. Its pink tongue lapped against his wrist.
“You’re a nice one.” He rubbed a floppy ear before standing up. “I apologize if I’ve breached etiquette.”
“Breached etiquette? Are you from England or something?” She patted her thigh and whistled.
Even though it was a low sound, it stabbed Holt’s sensitive ears. He flinched and shifted backward, nearly stumbling into the tree.
England. An island nation that was part of the small continent of Europe. Perhaps claiming he hailed from there would limit suspicion about his accent and mannerisms. At least until he could don his chameleon cloak and blend into this society.
“Yes. England.” The less he said at the moment, the wiser it would be. He didn’t want a web of untruths snaring him later.
The dog licked his fingers before trotting to the woman’s side.
“Rebel Aidan. You’re trespassing on my farm. Guess they sleep in trees where you’re from?” The woman extended a small, calloused palm toward him.
Holt nodded his head. Especially the woodland elves of the Wyrden Forest. And he would know, since that was his clan. “My name is Holt.” He stepped close enough to touch the palm of her hand with his.
A strange custom this. Good thing he hadn’t bowed his head as people did in the Orient. Her fingers wrapped around his, small and rough against the smoothness of his superior elven dermis. Warm tingles raced along the back of his hand. Did this woman possess magic after all?
She shook his hand once and then dropped it. His fingers fluttered, trying to recapture the strange sensation.
“Where are you heading?”
Holt skulked closer, until he could make out the color of her eyes, a bluish-gray that reminded him of the foam on the B’nyd River. His fingers itched to test the softness of the flaming waves of silk brushing her shoulders. Never before had he seen hair the color of fired copper.
“Where am I?” The cavern where his transportation spell dropped him was less than an hourglass turn’s jog away. He would need to look at a map to orient himself on this new continent.
“A few miles outside of Coleman, Idaho. About 15 miles from the Oregon border.”
Holt stared at her, enjoying the way her ruddy features reddened further when she noticed his gaze.
“Don’t tell me you’re hitchhiking without a map.”
“I will not tell you that.” Holt’s lips quirked at the corners when she shook her head and sighed.
Frustration. In the nine decades of his life, he’d seen the same gestures from his parents and older sister too many times to count. Some things must be universal. His ability to irritate among them. A smile found its way to his lips at the thought.
“I’ll get you something to tide you over on your walk to town.” Rebel turned away from him.
Snug pants made from heavy dark blue fabric clung to the curves of her backside. Ample curves, completely unlike the lean build of the women in Evendon. A yearning built in his chest. He clenched the sides of his leather tunic to keep his hands from discovering if the delicious bum swaying in front of him felt as lovely as it looked.
Wherever Idaho was in this world, he liked what he’d seen of it so far.