Free Mood Riders by Theresa Tomlinson

flat bread, rolled very thin and baked over fires glowing with charcoal. For once the only dance that was required of them was the gentle moon-dance that sent them all sleepy to their beds.
    Though there was no more traveling for a while, there was still work to do, making sure that the horses were well fed, watered, and exercised. The Month of Burning Heat went by all too soon and Atisha began to plan their next move south through the mountains. Bow practice was resumed, as soon as they’d saluted the morning sun.
    The Moon Riders’ tradition was always to shoot their arrows from horseback and in the old days, when they’d turned warrior, few enemies dared to face the formidable threat of charging Amazons.
    The Moon Riders laughed at the name of Amazon as they strapped on their strong leather body armor that flattened and protected the right breast as they drew their bows. The Achaeans had given them the name of Amazon, meaning “breastless ones,” and the story went about that the Moon-maidens were forced to burn or cut off their right breast.
    “As if we’d ever do such a ridiculous and dangerous thing.” Penthesilea shook her head, chuckling as she strung her curved bow.
    “Ah, but it does no harm to let them think it!” Centaurea insisted. “If we’d cut off a breast without fear, what else might we do? A frightening reputation can do much to protect us.”
    “Do we really need all this practice?” Myrina asked. “All we ever do is hunt rabbit or deer.”
    “Foolspeak!” Lycippe snapped. She was a young woman with a sharp pointed face, well-suited to the pictures of jackals that adorned her cheeks.
    “We must always be ready to fight!” Penthesilea waved her pointed spear in front of Myrina’s nose. “Who knows when we may need to defend ourselves? The journey south takes us through mountains where bears and robbers hide. We must always be ready.”
    “All right, all right!” Myrina backed away red-faced, wishing she’d not spoken. They’d answered her just as Hati might.
    Everyone knew that Penthesilea loved shooting with her curved bow; each morning she led the dancers in a mounted charge, astride her tireless mare, Fleetwind. They’d come and go in constant waves, never for one moment letting any direction go uncovered, aiming just as accurately behind them as in front. Back and forth they’d gallop at Penthesilea’s command, until every horse and rider was bathed in sweat.
    At last Atisha would call, “Enough!”
    After they’d rubbed the horses down, Atisha would call for dancing sticks. Though the short, light sticks were gaily painted, the stick dance that they performed also bore a serious purpose. A sharp iron point fixed to one end would instantly turn the sturdy stick into a spear. The Moon Riders’ sticks were free of pointed heads for the moment, but the way that Atisha made them train left no doubt in anyone’s mind that these cheerful baubles might be turned to death-dealing weapons in an instant.
    They advanced across the short-cropped grass, twirling their sticks steadily, then swung them fiercely above their heads. The clashing of wood on wood could be heard as the Moon Riders practiced with a partner—attack and defense, attack and defense. There were no holds barred and the dancers gathered many a bruised elbow and cracked ankle.
    Myrina swung her stick at Cassandra but then lightened her efforts a little as she saw the princess shrink away.
    “No! You’re not helping her,” Penthesilea cried. “Gentleness builds no strength. Sting like a scorpion, butt like a ram!”
    Myrina hesitated for a moment, recognizing the truth of this, but while she was distracted, Cassandra advanced, catching her off balance with a sharp whack!
    “Ha!” Penthesilea cried. “Well done! Strategy may win the day!”
    Myrina staggered to her feet and advanced toward Cassandra with furious eyes.
    “That’s better,” Penthesilea cried.
    As the Month of Burning Heat came to an end, the