Chapter 4: Windshift: What Do We Have for the Contestants, Johnny?

The wind was in his face. This wasn't a breeze, some little summer swippet. This was a full bore 25 mile per hour wind. His braid was actually whipping from side to side ... left shoulder, right shoulder, left ... whack, whack, whack. Any harder and he was going to be bruised. The eagle feather was long gone.

Ahead, the sky darkened over the mountains. The first towering cumulus, silhouetted by the declining sun, peeped in a valley gap, easily two hundred miles away. A gust reaching 40 blew the scent of rain ... and something else ... horses.

There ... out on the plain ... two ... six ... eight, a dozen ... two... 48 mares ... THREE running stallions, 'something evil this way comes, ' he thought. Stallions weren't known for sharing. Maybe five or six two year olds, a smattering of foals ... fillies and colts ... a few yearlings. The rest ... big strong survivors.

There ... behind the herd ... a golden shadow ... two more long slinky low fast movers bounding along behind the first ... herding? They still had eight miles to go before the first horse reached him ... not long, but too long.

The whole herd shied to the left ... an explosion in the grass and a yearling was down kicking out it's life, neck broken. The lion Was laying in wait. The three behind WERE herding.

The herd shifted right ... another golden leap ... this time, a lead mare escaped with a long tear down one flank, she made one ... two ... three more lunges ... the muscle under the tear ripped, her intestines fouled her hooves and she was down ... literally kicking her guts out.

The first of the storm clouds rose high over the mountains and slid down the near side. The wind increased to 30, gusts to 45. His braid was beating the shit out of him.

He didn't notice.

Two of the three lions had stopped to gorge on the yearling. The lion who had made the kill took out after the herd. The third lion from the original herders joined the killer and ran after the herd. When she reached the still shuddering mare she stopped and tore the mare apart, she fed.

Suddenly, there was half the herd gone but the rest were still being driven. He knocked an arrow and started searching the grass below his tree ... THERE! A golden spot still in a field of waving grass. The arrow was loosed and a second knocked before he realized he had done it.

Another still golden spot in the grass ... another shot ... another knocked ... the search ... the find ... the shot ... the knock ... the search, the shot.

Four in less time than it takes to tell ... a fifth shot ... too far distant ... far too windy.

Instead of the instant kill in the soft spot of the skull this shot severed the spinal cord half way to the tail. The fifth lion leaped from reaction and roared. She collapsed, rear legs unable to stand, still roaring out in pain and frustration.

The rest were gone

Too quick to count.

He had no idea how many lions had left, he knew only he had killed four, disabled one and had seen at least eight... 13? Thirteen and the Shaman only knew how many more he had missed. It must have been many ... there were twenty dead horses out on the plain.

The lions had been organized ... they had an intelligent plan and they carried it out. He dropped out of his tree, disgusted ... no possible chance of catching the herd. No horsy for unlucky boys.