CHAPTER 17
It was a chilly morning, the overcast skies a reminder of weather to come. Penrys was glad of the thigh-length sheepskin coat Hadishti had found her and her thick gloves. Her warm cloak was rolled and tied behind her saddle, the heavy Kigali stock saddle that was such a contrast to the sparse Zannib saddles with their bright fabric saddle-pads.
All five of them were planning to lead a pack train of the shaggy Zannib horses, five each, and Penrys had hers already in hand, on the south side of the winter camp.
The visitors were awake and beginning the process of transforming the empty zudiqazd into a living village again.
Winnajhubr stood by his horse a little ways off and spoke privately with his sister Yuknaj, while Khashghuy on the ground conferred with his mounted brother
