Free Running Wild by Joely Skye Page A

each shoulder, as if proud of his charges. And the one on the left? He looked like Ri as a boy, a boy who was already taller than his grandfather.
Staring at those dark eyes and dark hair, Seamus tried to make sense of this. What was a picture of Ri doing here? He was skinnier in the picture than now, and that was saying something. The other boy was skinny enough but not as bony and not as tall.
Any doubts Seamus had continued to hold that Ri was not Zachariah’s grandson as he’d claimed evaporated. It was a relief to see this and believe Ri, to not have to doubt him. Yet it wasn’t Ri who’d brought him here, but the horse. Why? Was Black Ri’s horse?
He looked at the other photos for answers. There were a couple more pics of the two boys at different ages, sometimes with a horse that looked like Black— how long did horses live anyway? Thirty years? Another photo of Zachariah by himself caught Seamus’s eye. Here he was older, more like the age Seamus had known him, and sadder. In that first photo, of him and the two boys, Zachariah looked less bowed down by life or age.
At a distant sound, Seamus glanced backwards, as if he might be caught snooping. Though given Ri’s behavior, his mysterious and sudden appearances, Seamus didn’t think he could be accused of acting too far out of line. Certainly Ri thought it his right to stride into Seamus’s house.
For this must be where Ri stayed. Fine for camping in milder weather, but Seamus was hard-pressed to see how someone could live here year-round. He stood and saw a duffel bag of clothes, but not much in the way of belongings. The only personal stuff were the pictures. The family—where was the other boy now?—left a lump in Seamus’s throat.
He crouched down and examined the horses in the photos a second time. One of them looked like Black while the other was a stocky chestnut. Clearly, then, the horse was attached to Ri, had brought him here, just like years ago it had brought him to Zachariah. The old man had always said wild horses were more intelligent than the tamed. Right now, Black was looking like something of a horse genius.
Seamus stepped out of the tent, zipped it up since the mosquitoes were getting bad and he’d let a bunch in already. He paused then cupped hands to his mouth and yelled, “Ri! Are you here?”
His words got swallowed by the forest, and there was no answer, not even an echo. He looked around to see the horse had disappeared. That was just great. Not that Seamus wanted to get back on Black’s back, but he felt stranded and alone.
Where would Ri be? How did he get from the tent to the farm and back on a regular basis? That damned horse had carried Seamus for a good hour or more. Seamus couldn’t guess how long it would take on foot, because Black had been really moving. Yet it seemed strange that if Ri did arrive on horseback, he kept Black hidden from Seamus.
And when Black arrived, he did so without Ri.
Seamus hated all these questions crowding in on him. He checked his watch to verify the time and started to follow hoofprints that might lead him somewhere, might lead him to answers. He hadn’t gotten far before he froze at the sound of the tent being unzipped.
He spun and jogged back in time to see Ri duck into the tent—naked, though Seamus only caught a flash of bare thigh. As he disappeared within, Ri called out in his light voice, “Be there in a moment. Don’t go anywhere.”
Oh, yes, Seamus was certainly going places. When he didn’t know where the fuck he was. He tried not to let the uneasiness take over, but the situation felt weirder and weirder.
A minute later, Ri poked out his head and smiled, as if Seamus had strolled over for a neighborly visit that evening. “Come on in.”
Seamus looked behind him, wondering what his options were. Get eaten by mosquitoes, go search for help while seemingly in the middle of nowhere or enter the tent with the strangely behaved Ri.
Reluctantly Seamus accepted Ri’s invitation.