Secrets on the Wind
By Stephanie Grace Whitson
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Chapter 1, paragraph 1
The acrid scent of burned grass and scorched earth clung to the still air. Fire had blackened the hillside above the half-ruined dugout. He felt his stomach clench. Arrows clung to the dugout's sod face like quills from a porcupine. Dismounting, he pulled one from between the earthen bricks. He could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck as he touched the tip of the arrow, envisioning what it must have been like in this place only hours ago--the wild rush of painted ponies, the unearthly yelps and cries, the raised war lances, all synchronized into a horrible beauty.