Babbling brook, a prairie filled with wheat without end, and a sky stuffed full of cotton ball clouds in a sea of blue deep enough to taste. And horses. There'd been horses. You never forget how to ride a horse. Even now—knowing this horse is actually Arden, doesn't faze my body. It remembers. My thighs clench around the heaving flanks of an inky stallion, so dark a black that it blends with the night. My unbound hair streams behind me like sideways water and I part my lips to taste the smells—the freedom of the ride. It's not like the Talyn Phisher of last week to just—be. I usually have to be in total control of everything. But so much has changed in the last twenty-four hours I can't keep a hold of anything that was known. Now everything that was—falls under before.
