away from the half-wild horse, “I’ll get her.”
The man, white-faced, threw her the reins.
“Good luck.” Then he, too, ran.
The mare—Farasha—yanked so hard on
the reins that Elide was nearly hurled across
the stones. But she planted her feet, leg
screaming, and said to the horse, “I have need
of you, fierce-heart.” She met Farasha’s dark,
raging eyes. “I have need of you.” Her voice
broke. “Please.”
And gods above, that horse stilled. Blinked.
Horses and handlers streamed past them,
but Elide held firm. Waited until Farasha
lowered her head, as if in permission.
The stirrups were low enough thanks to
Lord Chaol’s long legs that Elide could reach
them. She still bit down on her shout as her
weight settled on her bad ankle, as she pushed,
and heaved herself into Farasha’s fine saddle.
A small mercy, that they had not even had
autumn admireceo1iq
(Autumn Admireceo1iq)
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