Clash and Page eyed each other warily, and Clash made a loud, snorting sound. “Okay,” I said as I saddled up Clash, “now we need to find you a horse. Perhaps . . .” “No thanks. I’ll walk.” I stared at her, confused. “Look, Page, if it’s a matter of money, I have more than enough to cover purchasing a horse for—” “I don’t need your charity, and I don’t need a horse.” “Page, what in the world is going—?” The gnome chuckled, which was one of the more unsettling noises I’d heard in a while, then he said, “She’s afraid of horses.” “I am not!” Page said defensively. “I can smell it coming off her.” “I do not smell. That’s it. Finn, I don’t know what your obsession with this creature is, but it’s ending right now,” and she started to go for her gun again. Resting a hand firmly on hers before she could draw the weapon, I said, “Page . . . ?” “I am not afraid of horses,” she said tersely. “Horses and I just don’t get along, that’s all.”
