Crown of Renewal(210)

When the horse had drunk its fill, it pushed among the trees to where she’d left the box, picked it up in that very large mouth, and came back to her. She reached out; it bumped her hand with its nose and—as suddenly as it had appeared—dropped the box, bent the near foreleg, and bowed. Did she want to mount? Of course … but the box? She picked up the box; the horse turned to look at her and snorted. She put it back down; she could come back for it later. Maybe.

She clambered on, awkward without the familiar aid of a stirrup. The horse stood, then reached down to nose the box. It disappeared in that instant, and Dorrin found herself sitting in a saddle, saddlebags behind her and her rolled blanket tied in front of them, her boots resting in stirrups. “Falk?” she said. No answer but a toss of the horse’s head, and then it set off at a trot, angling across the sun’s light … north, she thought. It must be Falk.

“You know where we are going,” she said to the horse. An ear flicked back at her. She knew it meant yes. “Do I—is there something I need to do there?”

Another ear flick. Dorrin’s heart lifted. Here was the change she wanted, a new adventure, a challenge—and as if the horse understood that, it surged into a gallop.