Fean eyed the shoals, which looked like a kilometer of mud, sand, and rounded rocks of various sizes, with deep streams winding through them, well out on the flats. The others didn't seem worried, so she shrugged and let Spark follow the other horses across mushy sand and ridges of small pebbles.
A faint buzz . . . growing louder. "Someone's coming! I hear an engine."
"Dammit." Crimson glanced back, then forward. "Keep going, once we're across the first channel they can't do anything but shoot at us."
They booted the horses forward, but with their hooves sinking in the oozy sand and mud, and going around the big ridge of cobbles . . . the two trucks roared up the road from the south and barely slowed to turn and drop down the slope of the bank and out onto the flats.
They have pretty broad tires. They might not sink . . . until they stop.
