The woman and her horse were surely a fright—Siv’s cloak was made to only further her massive size, and Hildr was all mane and wild eyes. If she had been prepare for war she might have fashioned a hide for the horse as she had done for Sirius’, but to tool such thick leather would take time. Time they did not have.
A shield was raised and Siv cursed silently, but did not divert her attack. Rather, she rushed into the challenge. The spear was not made for jousting, and certainly, that was not her aim. When she was close enough she thrust forward, striking leather and yanking back before their horses passed. This was where her advantage lay.
Hildr’s bloodline was made of cattle-horses and dressage champions, and she was a prime example of both. Her feet wheeled sharply, long legs turning with the skill of a barrel-racer, and they were behind the white bitch. Siv urged her mount forward with a war-cry, intending to close the distance between herself and the rider. As long as she stayed behind her, she could strike without fear of the sword or true blocking from the shield. That would, at least, buy her time to keep the woman away from her daughter.
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