Read [Hurog 01] - Dragon Bones for Free Online

make headway if I was lucky.
    I held the sack of pots in one hand, careful that they made no noise. With my other hand I held a whip twice as long as I was tall. Half the length was stick from which the whipcord dangled.
    â€œLet’s go,” I said without undue emphasis once I was in the center of the ring. At the same time, I shook out the whip, and the stallion took off at a dead run after aiming a kick somewhere in my general direction.
    I let him run a dozen times around the smallish pen. He thought he knew what this was about. All my father’s horses started in this ring to learn simple commands like walk and whoa. But I’d brought him here to learn a different lesson, I hoped.
    He started to slow to a canter, more because it was hard for a horse with his stride to gallop around such a small enclosure than because he was tiring.
    â€œLet’s go,” I said again and waved the whip in his face. A green horse would have turned around and run the other way, but he’d learned too much about whips. He flattened his ears and reared at me; then, in case I didn’t get the message, he charged.
    I could have hit him with the whip and driven him off, but he already knew that whips hurt. It wouldn’t have taught him anything. Instead, I shook the bag of cooking pots hard, yelling and stepping toward him aggressively, banging on the bag with the hard end of the whip. It sounded like the kitchen after someone vexed the cook.
    The noise was too much for Stygian. He spun on his hindquarters and darted in the other direction as if a pack of wolves were on his tail, crow-hopping around the circles his size wouldn’t let him negotiate smoothly. By the fourth time I turned him, his chest and flanks were covered in foam. At last he dropped his head and looked at me, not challenging, but asking for permission to stop.
    I pulled the whip up and said, “Whoa.”
    He stopped as he’d been trained, but his hindquartersangled toward me, so I shook the whip and sent him running again. I waited until he carried his head low once more. This time when he stopped, he faced me. We’d both had enough.
    â€œGood lad,” I said, setting the whip and the bag down. I walked up to him and patted his wet shoulder gently. “We’ll turn you into a Pansy, yet, eh?”
    His whole body heaved with the effort of breathing; he was too tired and disheartened to care who I was. Dull-eyed, he watched me, not expecting much, I thought. It was fear, not anger, that made him dangerous. I doubted he’d ever be a fit mount for anyone else, but he’d trust me, eventually.
    I put a normal halter on him, not his usual one. It had taken a long time to wear him down to this point, but I doubted anyone would have to worry about his aggressiveness for a few hours yet. Tomorrow would be a better gauge of the progress we’d made. I hadn’t hurt him once. He’d remember that long after the effects of his running were gone.
    His ears twitched. I turned and found the Brat standing right next to me. She knew better than to approach a horse like Stygian without a good reason, so I wasn’t surprised to see my uncle standing by the fence. He scared her, mostly, as far as I knew, because he was the twins’ father and our father’s brother.
    It took a heavy tug on the lead rope to get the stallion to move—something I’d work on later. First things first. Penrod took him from me as soon as we’d cleared the gate while another groom ran into the ring to gather pots and whip.
    â€œWe’ve set the funeral for late tomorrow afternoon,” said my uncle, approaching me. “It’s too warm to wait longer, though it means your aunt cannot make it here in time.”
    I looked at him, then allowed my face to clear withcomprehension. Ah, he would think (I hoped), the moron remembers his father died today . I nodded.
    He waited, clearly hoping for some further response. “I