It was as if lightning crossed from her fingers and reignited what remained in the woman. Salvia’s hand recoiled as if she had touched a flame, and cat-like, her fur bristled and her lips pulled back. Yet the woman collapsed back into her dreamless sleep and left the girl with doubt in her mind. While she imagined weakness here, the will to live was strong. Some part of her instinctively recognized this; another intelligent part recognized the strength within the water-logged form.
Salvia left her, but only to near the forest. There, tethered to a tree and grazing, was her father’s horse. She had been taking the mare more often, favoring her size. It would make what she was about to do easier.
There was much to be said for her own strength. Salvia was pure muscle, and while she initially struggled to position the wet wolf-dog, once she had hoisted her onto the horse things were easier. She pulled herself up behind the unconscious thing (having satisfied she was indeed no longer dangerous) and gripped her around the waist with one arm. “Horse, haus!” Was the singular command, echoed by a sharp jab. The mare took off at her heavy canter, knowing the routes from the borders well.
They rode south. Even with the cold wind in her ears and the steady dadum, dadum of hooves against earth, Salvia could feel the heartbeat of the woman against her chest. This one would not break easily.
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