Tuesday Tales – PICK

It’s time for Tuesday Tales!

Today we have a snippet from ‘The Ballad of Crow and Sparrow’ my current MM Historical Western romance.

Our word prompt today is “Pick” and in this scene we find Crow, his horse Wind, and his dog Gin stumbling over something in the woods that will lead them down a path they could never have imagined.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

The snares always did well. Four fat rabbits were caught. One I threw to Gin and she ran off to eat her meal while I reset the snare. Wind carried me along the brook, the edges of the running water iced but the middle flowing freely. Gin stopped to drink, as did Wind, and I sat there watching a bright red bird flit from tree to tree. The wind was strong, shaking the naked branches and fat pine boughs, whistling through deadfalls. Gin’s head shot up, water running from her jowls and off she went barking madly. Wind stomped a foot, the shallow water splashing up over his fetlocks to his knees.

“Aller,” I said, giving the horse a soft nudge in the sides. He followed the barking dog, surefootedly picking his way along the snowy deer trail that Gin had streaked down. The dog had stopped running already, her frenzied barks coming from a thick swatch of blowdown trees to my left. I slid off my horse, tossed the reins to the ground, and grabbed my rifle from the leather scabbard that lay under fender/stirrup and began scrambling over dead trees coated with snow and ice. Perhaps she had treed something or found a denned up bear or badger, neither of which I wanted my dog to tangle with.

I spied Gin and her quarry ahead and slowed my dangerous rush over the uprooted pines and aspens. She’d not winded a grizzly or a fat boar raccoon. No, she had found a man. He was pale as the snow and weakly swatting at Gin as she tugged on his pantleg.

“De,” I barked at the dog and she dropped the man’s pantleg instantly, her lip still raised and the short golden fur on her back on edge. Such a scrapper she was. Not knowing what kind of man I faced, I cradled my rifle in my arms, my approach slow.

Copyright 2019 ©by V.L. Locey

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