Ithiel is by me!

The land stretched before him, flat and barren. This was the Waste, the heart of Inferni's territory, and Ithiel reigned over it this morning, his bow in hand and a quiver full of arrows slung on his back. Zedekiah circled high above him somewhere, playing the scout's duties even as his master practiced. His query was small and quick, and they therefore made excellent practice. Rabbits were not supremely difficult to strike with an arrow, but moving targets were always preferrable to something stuck in a stationary position in the trees.

It was not as if the rabbits he killed would go to waste, in any case -- he could bring the pelts to Myrika, and he could smoke some of the meat for Zedekiah. There were always hungry mouths in a clan, Ithiel knew, and there was no dearth of rabbits on the Waste -- they were innumerable, vast hordes of them populating their underground tunnels. They preferred this landscape, and with the vernal signs in the world, they were coming out in force, eager to eat their way out of winter leanness.

The dusky coyote urged Lystra on faster, and the big mare snorted, obliging her master's command. He held the reins of his horse in his teeth so he could use his hands to shoot, something he would not have dared to do months before, when Lystra was at her wildest. She had calmed greatly since the weeks Myrika had worked with her -- and Bairre with Ithiel -- and now, mounted archery was a reality for the man. Rabbits were harder to hit from horseback, and the Vigiles preferred to practice his mounted arts. It was not difficult to shoot from the ground, standing still. He drew back his bowstring and aimed, letting fly a moment later. The arrow whizzed past Lystra's head and the horse jerked, coming to a sudden stop and half-rearing.

Ithiel grabbed the reins with the hand that had held the arrow and held onto her, slinging the bow over his shoulder so he might pat her shoulder and neck with the other hand, murmuring soothing without words at the big chestnut mare. Though the whites of her eyes showed and her head was still thrust high, the big horse did not rear again, and after a moment, Ithiel was able to coax her forward again. He had noticed the thick scars along her back, and meant to point them out to Myrika. He thought he knew what they were, but could not be certain, and wished for his cousin's equestrian expertise.

Trotting forward, Ithiel saw the arrow, sticking up from a brownish mound of fur. He had struck the little creature in the neck, and his arrow was intact. Smiling, he slid from Lystra's back when they were close enough, picking up the arrow first, followed by the rabbit. Clutching it by the ears, he remounted and trotted back to the coniferous bush he'd chosen to hide his kills. The rabbit joined three of his fellows, rudely thrown down by Ithiel. All of them were half-white, shedding their winter fur, and it left a curious pattern on them. Perhaps they were no use as pelts or skins, but their meat could still be used.

Faster, his body urged, and the massive animal under him responded in kind. Viggo was not a horse made for true distance, but all horses were made to run. He snorted and pulled his head forward, and Ezekiel clung to the thick mess of fiery colored mane that flew against the wind. Riding bareback allowed for the silent communication that the Aquila preferred. Every muscle in his legs responded to those of his mount, and this silent understanding was what made them such a powerful team.

The land of the Waste was favorable for horses, and the well worn trails formed compacted earth lines that made travel easy. It was over one of these they ran, the golden and red-painted coyote hunched against the wind and the horse thundering along. Truthfully Ezekiel was small enough to fit atop nearly any horse; his larger wolfish cousins needed a horse of the chestnut’s size given their own weight. More value came because of Viggo’s temperament and his strength.

Though training had extended the massive horses’ stamina, he still could not maintain such a speed for long. Froth was already forming along his body, and his breathing was labored. Ezekiel leaned back and the horse slowed to a canter—Ezekiel would not force him to walk so quickly. To his surprise (or lack thereof) the sight of two familiar shapes grew on the horizon. He turned towards them, and used the distance to ease Viggo into a trot. The big horse announced himself with a whinny, calling towards one of the many mares he considered his own.