A Warrior's Desire. Pamela Palmer

dropping, piece by piece onto the ground. Marceils healed injuries quickly, but she needed rest and sleep to replenish her stores of energy. And she’d had little of either in more than a day.

      None of that mattered. Nothing but staying with Charlie Rand, though she wondered what use she’d be to him if all she could do now was to keep one foot moving in front of the other.

      “We’re on a collision course with a chipmunk rug,” Charlie said a short while later. “Should we step aside and let them pass?”

      “No.” She caught a glimpse of green, but could see little beyond Charlie’s broad back. “They’ll go around us.”

      Minutes later, several hundred small green petermoles covered the ground at their feet. Charlie stopped so quickly, Tarrys nearly ran into him.

      “You can keep walking,” she told him, though the respite was welcome. “You can’t step on them.”

      “That’s not why I stopped. I swear I just saw a big black cat with three white horns. But it disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.”

      Tarrys froze. Her blood went cold.

      “A black trimor. The most deadly creature in Esria.”