Olivare was watching the sun melt into the distant mountains when Arshad regained consciousness. Curses filled his mouth, followed by dirt, as unbidden reflexes flipped him violently off the unfamiliar horse. Unfortunately his body did not manage a graceful maneuver, resulting in a split upper lip and an incensed expression.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“A Tantarian priest,” Olivare said, unable to resist a grin. “You went down like a lame horse.”
Arshad felt at his throat.
“Oh I took your amulet earlier. Very useful, negating thrown spells. Glare all you want, but if I’d dropped first, we’d both be dead.”
(Written for The Prediction. Challenge words: lame, mouth, upper)