Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm) Read Free

“get back among the trees. We’re going to try to right the wagon.”
    The little cart with its passengers trundled off, taking with it the dim light cast by its lanterns.
    The remaining women and the older children took what little shelter they could beneath the trees. The remaining two men held the torches.
    Delae turned back to the overturned wagon.
    Dan and Pell waited, Tad behind them looking confused, Pell’s face already pale and set, knowing what needed to be done.
    Clearly, she couldn’t ask it of him, either, and she would much prefer to do the deed herself, so it would be done as quickly as well and as painlessly as possible.
    “Dan, Pell,” she said, “secure the draft horses to the rails of the wagon so they can pull as we lift but wait until I signal I’m ready. Tad, help them by holding the horses.”
    She went to her knees beside the head of the thrashing chestnut horse, wary of its kicking forelegs; its tossing head hampered by the tangled traces and laid her hand on its cheek, looking into the one eye she could see. The white there clearly showed its fear. For a moment it stilled, distracted by her touch. Her heart went out to it as she stroked its rough hide and she drew her belt knife.
     
    That was how Dorovan first saw her, kneeling in the mud by the overturned wagon. To his Elven-sight her brilliant hair was a bright splash of red against the light dusting of snow on the ground as she bent her head. Brightness sparkled on her cheeks as she touched the frightened, tangled horse gently.
    Tears. Something his folk did not know.
    Nearby three men secured draft horses to the upraised side of the wagon while a group of men, women and a young boy stood beneath the dubious shelter of the trees.
    It wasn’t his business; it was a thing of men. He knew he should pass by, unseen in the darkness, his Elven-sight rendering everything to him as clear as day- unlike that of the men and women here.
    He was cold as well - chilled to the bone - tired, heartsick and far from home.
    It had been a long journey from Lothliann in the north, where he’d gone to render aid against the Borderlands creatures, through the Rift and the lands Men called Raven’s Nest. They’d lost one of their Hunters to the goblins and his people grieved the loss along with Melis’s soul-bond.
    As he himself did, his heart heavy. Even without a soul-bond of his own, through the empathy his people shared he knew a fraction of what it was to suffer such a loss. His heart ached for Melis. She would go on to the Summerlands soon, he knew. And then his people would lose not one, but two.
    To his vision it was clear the small party was unlikely to right the heavy wagon, not with what they had to work with, but it was also quite clear they would try. There was nothing else for it.
    It was also clear what the woman on the ground was about to do, however much she clearly dreaded it and however necessary it was… If he didn’t intervene. With the storm it was also likely they would all freeze and die out here if they didn’t succeed.
    Dorovan had had enough of death.
     
    Taking a breath, Delae set the blade to the horse’s throat. She didn’t think she could successfully put it through the eye and thus into the brain - nor could she bear to do so, but she could cut its throat if she was quick. The thought of it made her want to weep, but she steeled herself to do what must be done.
    A strong, long-fingered hand settled over her own, stilling it.
    Startled, she turned her head to look.
    Shock and amazement at who stood there held her rooted to the spot.
    Not who though, as much as what.
    She wasn’t certain in that moment or any moment afterward which held her more immobile - that an Elf had appeared at her side - that he was an Elf, that he was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen, as most Elves were, or the seemingly bottomless depth of the kindness in his silvery gray eyes. Or the grief and sorrow hidden in the depths - moving