4
WE WENT BACK to my father’s house, where we found everyone in the kitchen, which smelled of coffee and freshly baked bread. Deyu and Reida had also returned and sat at the kitchen table.
Eirani was applying a bandage to Reida’s shin. He sat with one foot on a chair, his trouser leg rolled up, looking put out. He had a number of gashes across his skin.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The horse didn’t like Reida,” Karana said. She bit her lip from trying to keep a straight face.
“He got thrown into the blackberries,” my father said from the stove, where he was making tea.
Reida glared at Karana and then at Deyu, who was still wearing her riding gear as if it were her second skin. Reida had been struggling a little recently. Traditionally, he’d been the tough one, but his position with us
