I've gotten hooked on riding since we've started. The smooth rhythm of each step, the wind in my face, the exhilarating speed at which we traveled. My heartbeat would kick up a notch, letting me feel the elements.
If I were a bird, I'd be flying.
Could Jared fly? His feathers were long and hard, like stilettos. Or a layer of porcupine's quills, laid out in a straight hard line.
After all, he was an avian. Could avians fly? They had feathers.
Maybe he'd be offended. He always wore that droopy cloak over his feathers, covering jeans and an ashen T-shirt with the Nike logo on it.
He will when he's ready, Fallie told me softly. He's hurt and confused. He'll bide his time. Don't be frustrated.
But it's so hard not to!
You are moving at a speed he cannot match. Remember. You were born here. His past is misted, cloudy, and he is the last of his kind. He bears a burden you will never understand.
If he would tell me, I'd understand!
No, Samuel, said Fallie harshly. You wouldn't. I knotted my fingers in her mane and frowned.

Camp consisted of lying against a tree and trying to dodge sparks from the pathetic fire. If you've never smelled pungent smoke, consider yourself lucky.
Too close to the fire and you suffocate.
Too far and you freeze to death.
Eventually the pitiful little bundle sparks sputtered out, and I could sleep. Riding sure wears you out!
I was walking. There was a soft carpet of moss under my feet. A thin stream trickled not too far to the left. Autumn leaves danced in the wind, fluttering about in pirouettes.
Then a voice spoke in my mind, strong and reassuring.
Samuel, it whispered. Samuel, Samuel...
"What?" I cried, spinning around. "What is it?"
Samuel...Samuel...
"What do you want with me? Why are you calling me?" I turned in a circle, peering at the trees. The area was well-lit, with streams of golden sunlight filtering through the spindly branches.
"Because," said the voice. "You have been Chosen."
I turned towards the voice. It was an old man, not too skinny, not too fat, with a long white beard that grew past his chest. His hair was beginning to bald, so some bits of shiny pink scalp showed. His eyes were kind and crinkled at the edges, as if he had smiled all his life. The man wore only a white robe that fluttered with every breeze. Sometimes it showed bare feet, large and old. Despite his age, he seemed so clean he might have taken a bath right before I came. His fingernails were trimmed and free of dirt, his beard glowed...
Then I saw a glimmer of light shine on his robe. I tracked the light and found that it reflected off the sword in my hand. Wait! I didn't bring no sword! What kind of...
"Why am I chosen? Are there any other chosens? What must a chosen do?" A torrent of questions rose up in my throat like bile, pouring over my tongue.
The man laughed. "Slow down, Samuel," chuckled the man. "Not so fast." And how the heck did he know my name?
"I know everybody's name, Samuel," said the man. "You might want to know mine as well." I nodded. "It's Atticus," he continued. "Now: before you start with the questions, I'd like to tell you something."
I nodded again, feeling redundant. "Okay. Tell me everything."
Atticus began.
"You are one of the Chosen, Samuel. This means you possess certain power. Not many are Chosen. They are often selected at a young age, because their growth is so different from others their age. We must prevent their powers from seeping into Naga's grasp, or the world as we know it could be destroyed." This sounded like a story, and none of it made sense. I remained frozen, mesmerized.
"The Chosen is allowed helpers. His guardian, of course, as well as other accomplices. It is written that a Chosen will conquer Naga, overthrowing evil. That was written nearly a millennium ago."
"Only one other Chosen is still alive. He is the most dangerous one yet not because of his powers, but because of which side he is on." Atticus stared right through me. "That man is John Eringer, you father." No! Not the father stuff again. How many disappointments can a guy bear? "Hey, class, this is my dad and he's a super-powerful tyrannical ruler on the evil side who wants to kill everybody." Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.
Atticus seemed to read my thoughts.
"Samuel, he hasn't always been this way," whispered Atticus. "It is not his fault that he chose this path. Naga is a very powerful sorceress. You must remember that."
I groaned. "Then what do I do?" I said. "Go rescue him or something?" Atticus smiled.
"That is exactly what you must do," he told me, smiling.
Sighing, I sat down. "Tell me about my powers."