The horse’s smooth, easy gait carried Skatha o’er what she assumed to be a meadow for ’twere no climbs or dips, just a level tilt. The wind played havoc with her long curls, whipping them into a frenzy. She laughed aloud at the sting of her hair on her cheeks.Alive.She felt so alive.Undamaged.Strong.On a horse’s bare back, she needed no caution, did not have to mask her feelings, and was the equal of the sighted. ’Twas the most delicious freedom she knew. Mayhap save for the pleasure Brökk had given her, for she flew then too out of her body and into some magikal place.The sun beat down on her back while the frigid breeze chilled her heated face. The contrast between the two, hot and cold, was sheer exhilaration. She leaned forward. Her nose brushed the mare’s neck as she wound her hands around the animal’s throat and wrapped her legs tighter around the horse’s flanks.She urged the mare on, and the horse broke into a gallop. They raced the gusting breezes. The animal’s powerful hind legs drove the pace harder, faster, until they were nigh flying across the clearing.
