The back of the horse offered exhilaration in a way even her own legs could not. Siv was both in and out of control; she did not need to think as much as she was able to feel, and feel she did. Below her a beast of muscle and of speed thundered, and she could smell the air and feel it whip across her body. Perhaps this was what it was to fly, but Siv was not a woman who dreamt of such things. A calculating, savage nature within her would not allow for such fanciful dreams. Even her faith, precariously balanced with this stark wolfish nature, could not be granted too much head.
But she could lie.
Next to her a brown shape rose up, and soon they were close. High in the saddle Siv did not have the ability to spur the mare further on. It was clear to her, as Hildr’s breath became heavy and her step fell behind that of the tall thoroughbred, that this was a lost race. Siv finally acquiesced and leaned back, allowing her horse to slow gradually. Though it was clear the mare disliked having the other horse pull ahead and objected with a bodily whinny, her heavy hooves slowed to a trot with the urging of her mistress and finally to a walk—Siv was wise enough not to halt her fully, aware of the dangers of such a thing.
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