Morning stood frozen, staring at the saddled horse. She had seen horses, obviously, but never from very close. The Rebellion had bought wagons and oxen to take them south from Amaranthine; she’d avoided getting too close to those lumbering things, too, but most of them had been so old and docile and reassuringly stupid that her nerves about them had settled eventually. But this animal…
Were all horses this big? Its back stood several inches taller than the top of her head. It had a glossy brown-black coat, with dark, intelligent eyes that peered at her as its head turned slightly towards her. She couldn’t help a small jump of surprise as it flicked its tail with sudden force. And she’d thought his dog was enormous.
“No,” Morning answered warily.
“Well, you’ll need to need to learn,” Ilya said gently. “We can’t have you walking to Haven.”
“I could jog,” she said in a small voice.
He laughed. “It’s easier than it looks, I promise. Just keep a level head, don’t do anything sudden, and do as I say.” When she nodded, he went on. “First of all, they’re big animals and they can hurt you if you aren’t careful, so I’m going to show you how to be careful. They’re also intelligent animals, mostly, and they understand the difference between kindness and cruelty. If you don’t treat them with respect, they won’t respond well.”
Ilya had approached the horse as he spoke to gently rub its cheek. “The last general point is that they’re prey and herd animals. The ones you’re around will be well-trained, but you must remember that they don’t like surprises, and they’re often at least a bit worried about whether something is going to eat them.” Morning supposed she could relate. “They see you as part of their herd, so if you panic, they will too. That’s why it’s important to keep steady around them. Now, let me show you her blind spots. You never want to approach from where she can’t see you or where you might get kicked.”
Ilya’s voice was steady and calming as he continued his lesson, but she couldn’t quite tell if it was for the horse’s benefit or hers. The way he explained it, with so much attention to how the horse felt and perceived things, made it feel strangely intuitive, as alarming as the creature itself remained.
“Now,” he said, “come here and let her smell your hand.”
Morning had thought she was starting to get her feet under her again, but she suddenly felt pale. “She… won’t bite me?”
He shook his head, and nudged her forward with a hand on her shoulder. He held out his own knuckles, and after a moment’s hesitation, she did the same, and tried very hard not to flinch when the horse brought its snout towards them. Her breath caught all the same as she felt its warm breath. Its skin was softer than she ever would have believed, softer than any fabric she’d ever touched. “Oh…” she breathed out slowly. “It’s like velvet!”
Ilya gave one of his irritatingly musical little laughs. “Isn’t it?”
She stroked its nose with her thumb, then tentatively lifted her other hand to run along its jaw. It wasn’t quite as soft, but it was smooth and warm. She ran her fingers curiously along the leather straps framing the horse’s cheek. “Is this the bridle?”
“No, this is a halter. The bridle has a bit — the metal piece that sits in her mouth.”
“Doesn’t that hurt her?”
“No, not if it’s being used correctly, and she’s used to the sensation. It’s meant to help her understand what you’re asking her to do, not to punish her. We don’t need it right now.”
Morning was skeptical, but if there was one thing she felt sure of as she watched him with the horse, it was that Ilya would never harm this animal. “Okay.”
“Alright, step back a bit and watch.” Ilya waited until she’d backed away, then with a smooth motion took hold of part of the saddle, put his boot in the stirrup, and swung himself up onto the horse’s back. Of course he would make it look easy. “First and foremost you want to stay in the saddle. If you feel like you’re going to slip off, grab hold of her mane,” he demonstratively took a loose fistful, “and try to slow yourself down and get your legs or arms under you. You don’t want to fall on your head or neck. We can mend a broken arm or a sprained ankle.”
She felt another wave of dizziness coming on. “Have you fallen off before?”
“Plenty, but I’ve spent a lot of time on horses — and doing much stupider things than you’ll be doing,” he added with a smile. She wasn’t sure whether that made her feel better or not. “Now, she’ll take cues from your body about what you want her to do, so you need to be mindful about what you are doing so you don’t confuse her. Squeeze your knees gently here,” he illustrated, and the horse began to move, “to tell her to start walking. Settle into the rhythm of the gait — if she’s doing what you want, then you shouldn’t be fighting her.”
Ilya looped the horse around the meadow at a slow walk, then stopped in front of her again.
“Halting is the exact opposite. You’re going to tense up, lean back a bit, and tighten your grip on the reins just a bit. She’ll sense that shift and know you want her to do something differently. You don’t need to be too firm.” He gave her a pointed look, and dismounted just as effortlessly as he’d gotten up in the first place. “That means it’s important not to seize up abruptly, or stay tense the whole time, or she’ll be confused about what you’re asking.”
Morning listened wide-eyed as he spoke, and slowly nodded, despite the yawning disbelief in her stomach. How the hell could she not be tense, sitting on top of an animal that big?
“Now,” he said, fixing a worryingly reassuring smile on her, “your turn.”
Something in her stomach flipped over. Several somethings, possibly. “What?”
“I’ll hold the lead, so all you need to do is sit and start to get comfortable with the feeling. I won’t take her any faster than a walk, once you’re ready.”
She looked from him to the horse and back, then swallowed hard. “How do I even get up there…?”
“I can give you a hand, if you need it.”
Morning crept forwards as he waved her over. He dropped to a knee. “Foot in the stirrup,” he instructed, as she reluctantly used his leg as a stepping stool, “grab the pommel, and — up you go.”
Up she went indeed, much more easily than she would have guessed.
“How’s it feel?” he asked with a grin once she was seated.
“Tall,” Morning replied weakly, casting a glance his way. Still, she could get used to looking down at him like that. Maybe this was how full-blooded qunari felt all the time.
“Mind your posture and sit up straight, but otherwise just relax and get a feeling for it.” Ilya started fiddling with the stirrups — oh, he was adjusting the length for her legs. “When we get you a horse of your own, she’ll be smaller, so it won’t be quite as much of a climb. Something nice and cooperative.”
Her breath caught. “Of my own?”
“Well, I suppose she’ll be the Inquisition’s, but she’ll be yours as long as you’re here.” Ilya patted the horse on the neck as he circling around to adjust the other stirrup. “Or he. A gelding would do nicely for you, as well.”
The thought left an unexpected lump in her throat, and Morning turned her head away as she tried to blink away the sudden wave of emotion, in case he looked up. A horse. Her horse. Ilya said it so casually, but the thought was almost too absurd to wrap her mind around. When was the last time anyone had given her anything, never mind a — well, she ought to have already given up on trying to understand why he said or did anything, she supposed.
Experimentally, Morning leaned forward in the saddle a little to stroke the horse’s neck. The feeling of it beneath her palm, warm and solid, was more reassuring than she had expected.
“What’s a gelding?” she asked, once she was certain her voice was steady.
“A castrated male horse,” Ilya replied cheerfully, straightening up once more.
“… Oh.”
“It mellows out the temperament and makes them more workable. Stallions can be a bit headstrong, so they aren’t usually suitable for novice riders. Here, stand up in the stirrups and check if the height’s alright.”
She had only just begun feeling like she wasn’t going to slide off entirely, but cautiously did as instructed, lifting herself a few inches off the seat.
“Perfect. Keep the ball of your foot on the stirrup and your heels down as you sit, it’ll help with your posture. Straighten up now.” After she’d settled down again, he touched the small of her back lightly to correct her, then handed her the reins. “Good, just like that. Now, she’s not wearing a bit yet, but make sure you don’t hold the reins tightly. It’s like someone yanking on your braid or the back of your collar as you’re walking. You want to give her her head, unless you need to tell her something, and you usually only need to use a bit of pressure for her to feel it.”
“Like… this?” she tried.
“A bit looser — there you go. Now, if you want to cue her to start slowing down —” He tugged lightly on the reins. “See? If she’s not responding you can be a bit more insistent, but don’t go yanking because you’re scared. She’ll feel the pressure, you needn’t use much.”
Morning nodded. “Alright.”
He took a step back to survey her, and the self-consciousness she had been too anxious to notice suddenly came rushing back. She must look foolish, sitting so stiffly on such a large horse — like a frightened child. “How does it feel?” he asked.
Despite the blush warming her cheeks, she shifted her weight experimentally. “Alright,” she conceded, although not without reservations. “I guess.”
“Good,” Ilya replied brightly. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Her heart had finally stopped racing, but now abruptly changed its mind. “But —”
“I’ll keep the lead, don’t worry. You don’t need to do anything but focus on your balance.”
“What if she tries to run?” Morning asked, feeling wobbly.
“She won’t, but if she did, just keep your feet in the stirrups and hold onto the saddle and her mane until she slows down on her own. Falling’s the only thing you need to worry about.”
She tried to ignore the fresh bubbles of panic fermenting in her stomach, swallowed, and wrapped one sweaty palm tightly around the edge of the saddle. “… Okay.”
Ilya shot her a warm grin, then began to lead the horse forward. Morning’s heart lurched at the sensation, suddenly forcefully reminded of just how powerful — and how large — the animal beneath her was. Each footfall sent a jolt all the way through her.
“Easy,” Ilya said, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Relax your muscles a little and settle into the saddle. Just bob along with the rhythm, like you’re floating on the waves in the sea.”
“I don’t know how to swim,” Morning shot back.
“Well — one thing at a time.”
Morning took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, and did her best to let some of the tension ease out, although it felt a bit like deliberately preparing to shut her fingers in a door.
“There you go.” Ilya reached over to rub the horse’s neck once again. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“What did you say her name is?” Morning asked.
“Clove — like the spice, I presume.”
“Is she from the Inquisition’s stable?”
“Well, not originally. Before Dennet agreed to contribute his herd, our ‘stable’ consisted mainly of a dozen horses that I’d feel guilty taking to a gentle canter on a short hill.”
She glanced down, perplexed. “What?”
“They would make fine companion horses,” Ilya explained mildly, “in a quiet pasture somewhere. Sending them up the Frostbacks or onto a battlefield does them a disservice.”
“Oh.” He spoke of them with such… dignity, she’d have thought he was talking about people. Some of her prior acquaintances didn’t even talk about people that way. “But Clove is a good horse?”
“There aren’t good or bad animals. The fault is with the trainer or the master applying them to a task they aren’t suited for. If I try to bang in nails with my sword, my doing a poor job of it doesn’t mean it’s the sword that’s bad,” he said plainly.
Morning frowned. “I didn’t mean…”
“It’s alright,” he dismissed her with a smile. “I know what you meant. She is an excellent horse by any measure. And my standards are quite high.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“I’m a fairly capable rider,” Ilya replied lightly, and somehow she knew that had to be a criminal bit of understatement, “so it’s quite apparent to me when a horse doesn’t have the power or agility that I’d like. It’s important to understand your animal’s limitations, but ideally, they aren’t quite so… limiting.”
“You know a lot about horses,” she observed. “Where did you learn? Most families don’t have horses, do they? Even out in the country.” It was a bit embarrassing to remind him again of how woefully inadequate her knowledge of the world outside the Circle was, but she had gotten used to soldiering on past shame and embarrassment by now.
“No, they don’t. I was fortunate enough to grow up on an estate with a stable, so I spent a lot of time there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morning shot him a look. Why be coy? “Are you a noble, then?”
“No, but it’s complicated. I did receive a good education, but I’ve no inheritance awaiting me or anything.” She supposed that much wasn’t surprising. It had usually been quite easy to tell the templars from noble families apart from the rest just by their speech, even without considering accents; the ones with a proper education tended to be more particular about their choice of words. Ilya spoke with a bit too much grace for her to imagine him tying hay bales and picking off ticks as a boy, and he had an awfully fine accent for a Marcher, besides.
A connection suddenly took shape in her mind. “Everyone was calling the Herald ‘Snow’. Is that your… family name?”
“No. It was the name I used with the Carta, and how I introduced myself to the Inquisition originally. Lady Montilyet — our ambassador — added it onto my given name at some point, or vice versa. It just sounds better to prospective patrons and noble allies if I have a surname, I suppose.”
“Makes you sound less like a peasant, I guess,” Morning concluded. “…No offense.”
He laughed. “None taken. What about you? Is ‘Morning’ your full name? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Morning Lavellan.” Saying the name again felt like an admission of guilt. But there was no reason to keep stupid personal trivia from him — even the thought felt foolish, after everything that he had seen and done for her — and there was no reason he’d recognize the name, besides. However notorious she had become within the Ansburg Circle, there was no reason anyone who wasn’t a mage or a templar should have heard the tale. “That’s what’s on my papers from the Ansburg Circle, anyway. My father was Dalish — from Clan Lavellan, in the Marches — so when they asked me if I had a surname when they first brought me in, I… sort of panicked.”
‘Sort of’ was an understatement. Thinking back to that day — a child trying to choke back terror as a stranger asked her questions that seemed to have only wrong answers, all the while hardly able to keep her tearful eyes off the sword of the templar standing by the door — it was a miracle she’d been able to get even a word out.
“Everyone in the Circle just called me Lavellan.” She paused. “You’re the first person who’s called me ‘Morning’ in… years, probably.”
“It’s a lovely name.”
That was difficult to sit with, although Morning couldn’t say why. “I always thought it sounded a bit… common,” she replied. “With it just being… some word.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being named ‘some word’,” Ilya objected, with mock-offense. “Take ‘Snow’, for example. Or ‘Hawke!’”
“‘Hawke’ is spelled with an ‘e’,” she pointed out.
“Well, I suppose you could be ‘Morninge’ with an ‘e’, if that would make you feel better.”
She groaned. “For all I know, it could be. I never saw it written down.”
“You didn’t grow up among the Dalish, I suppose.”
“No. My father left before I was born. He never told me why — if it was because of my mother, or something else. I was probably too young to understand.”
“Your mother was — the term is ‘vashoth’, I think?”
“Yeah. She must have been born outside the Qun, since she didn’t have the scars.” She gestured to her own mouth. “They were both mages.”
Ilya didn’t ask what had happened. No need, she supposed.
“Do you know their names?” he asked instead, and Morning shot him another look. What an odd question.
“Sethe and Adaar,” she replied warily. “Why?”
“No reason. It’s just… good to have something to remember them by.”
She didn’t reply, and turned her eyes toward the rolling hills beyond the path instead, blinking quickly. The vista was beautiful, like something out of a painting. When she’d thought of the world outside, she had never imagined that something so breathtaking could be so ordinary, just lying around waiting for a passerby’s stray glance.
The horse’s gait was strangely comforting, now that she had started to get over her initial trepidation. The bulk and solidity that had first intimidated her… well, they still intimidated her, but there was something steadying about it, as well. She had never touched anything like it before. The only animals they’d kept in the Circle were the mouser cats, and while those had been the closest thing to a friend she’d had there, she had always pitied the mice.
“I’m sorry if I’ve spoken out of turn,” Ilya said softly.
“No, it’s alright.” Morning could tell he was looking at her, but she didn’t feel ready yet to meet his eyes. “I just… haven’t talked about them in a long time.” No one had ever asked. “I don’t remember a lot about them.”
“You must have been quite young.”
“Not young enough that I shouldn’t remember.” Whenever Morning thought of them, it was with a familiar, gnawing pang of guilt. She shifted again in the saddle, trying to remember how Ilya had sat when he’d demonstrated for her. Back straight, heels down…
“What’s the ‘Carta’?” she asked.
“Dwarven crime guild,” Ilya replied breezily. “Lyrium smuggling, primarily, but they’ve diversified their interests in recent years.”
“What?” She glanced over, trying to assess whether he was serious.
“What, you don’t think I’m the type?”
“You’re a bit tall, for starters.”
He laughed. “Well, they need somebody to reach the lyrium on the top shelf.”
“Is that where you learned how to —” She cut herself off abruptly as she thought better of the question. “Actually, never mind.”
After a brief pause, Ilya went on. “I was pleased to leave their employment.” What she had already come to think of as his usual mild tone felt strange, given the subject matter. “I don’t enjoy seeing people hurt.”
The silence sat uneasily. “I’m… sorry. I know I —”
“Don’t be,” Ilya cut her off, his calm unbroken. “I only regret those templars weren’t delivered their fate a day sooner.”
A day sooner. Where would she be now, if those templars had never stopped her — if there had been no scream for him to hear? A few miles further up the road, probably, feet blistered and belly empty and with no more of a clue of where she was going than when she’d first stepped past the gates of Redcliffe.
“You would have been alright,” Ilya said, as if he could read her thoughts. Another trick he’d gotten from Andraste, maybe.
Morning’s jaw tightened as she gritted her teeth. “You don’t know that.”
“Maybe not,” he shrugged. “But you’re tougher than most.”
She shot him a baffled look. Whatever would make him think that, after the mess she’d been — and been in — since the second they met? “Doesn’t matter how tough you are, if your luck is shit enough.”
“Everyone has bad luck sometimes.”
Morning let out a mirthless laugh. “You turning up is the first good luck I’ve ever had.”
Well, that wasn’t quite true. That the Ansburg Circle should fall apart not one day later than it did, on the very eve of her so-called trial, might as well have been a miracle. Just thinking about it left a familiar knot of misery and dread in her stomach.
“What does it say that you’re still here, then?” Ilya asked. “I don’t know your whole story, Morning, but I do know most people in your shoes would be in a shallow grave back in Ansburg or sitting in Redcliffe waiting for worse still, and you are neither. We don’t choose the hand we’re dealt, but we do decide how to play it.”
After a few long seconds, Morning managed to tear her bewildered stare away from him and fix it once more on the rolling horizon. He was just being kind, she concluded. He couldn’t really think that.
All was quiet for a while, except for the sound of the horse’s heavy footfalls. Hoof-falls? “What about your parents?” she asked.
“My father is a minor lord in Ostwick,” Ilya replied. “My mother was a kitchen maid, but I never knew her — she died when I was born.”
“Oh.” Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. I don’t remember anything of her, of course, but I do know what it’s like to wish I did.” He sounded thoughtful. “To mourn someone you never really knew.”
“… She must have been someone really special,” Morning said, and meant it, although she couldn’t have said why. It wasn’t like she had known the woman. She barely even knew him.
She could hear the slight smile in his voice. “I like to think so.”
“Nice of Lord Whoever to not throw you out in the cold, as well, I suppose.” She glanced down at him again, trying and failing to read his expression. “You said he… raised you?”
“Not personally — although I suppose the nobles who raise their children personally are a minority, anyway.”
“Is that… common? Raising a…”
“A bastard? No, it’s not especially common. I was raised separately from the rest of the family. Most of them didn’t even know I existed.”
“Why? I mean, why go through the trouble?”
“I used to ask myself that a lot,” Ilya replied, although he didn’t sound much troubled about it now. “I suspect he felt responsible for my mother’s death. She died in childbirth. I imagine raising me was a way of making amends, but I was more of an obligation than I was a son, I think. It would explain the pains taken in my upbringing, despite his total lack of interest in me or my life otherwise.
Morning frowned, but she wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” he clarified quickly, misjudging her silence as disapproval. “If it weren’t for him, who knows where I’d be — or if I would even have survived childhood. Regardless of his reasons, I’ll always be grateful for the chance he gave me.”
Something about his tone was odd, but — “I understand, I think,” Morning said quietly. “My parents died when I was… seven or eight. The templars figured I’d be a mage, too, so an old templar took me in until my magic manifested. He’s the one who…” Every word she might choose felt impossibly incomplete. “Coached me, I guess you’d say, so I would know how to behave when I went to the Circle.”
Every templar will be looking for a reason to kill you, Domhnall had told her, gripping her little shoulders so tightly it hurt. Don’t call attention to yourself, don’t raise your voice, don’t think you’ll get away with what the other apprentices do. They’ll sell you out if they get the chance. You mustn’t give them the excuse they’re looking for. She had cried whenever he talked like that, but it was the truth that was cruel, not him.
It had still stung when he brought her to Ansburg, though. Until the day they arrived, Morning had always hoped he might change his mind. Maybe that had been a lesson, too.
“He’s the one who convinced the Circle to take me in the first place. If it wasn’t for him…”
She trailed off, and again they went on in silence. Domhnall probably thought she was dead already. He’d never written her, or they’d never given her the letters. She didn’t dare to wonder if he’d be pleased to see her now.
“Well,” Ilya said, glancing up at her with a smile, “I’m glad you’re here now.”
“Yeah.” Morning leaned forward to run her hand over the horse’s neck once more, feeling the muscles tense and shift beneath the smooth coat. “Me too.”
They had looped nearly all the way around the camp now. It felt a little silly to realize how frightened she’d been at the thought of even getting near the horse not even an hour ago; now, she was almost disappointed to realize that it would be over so soon.
“What’s the Herald of Andraste doing out here, anyway?” she asked.
“Fetching horses, actually,” Ilya replied, “among other errands. Dennet asked us to put a few matters in order before he would agree to send his horses to Haven. Yesterday I was scouting locations for watchtowers.”
“By yourself?” She gave him a puzzled look. “The Herald of Andraste?”
“It gave me an excuse to have some time to myself. You’ll understand when you meet Cassandra,” he sighed.
“Cassandra?”
“She was one of the Hands of the Divine, before the Conclave. She’s a Seeker — one of the templars’ minders. And mine now, I suppose,” he added dryly. “She’s been… very concerned with my decisions since I informed them of my ties to the Carta a couple weeks ago. This is the first time I’ve had some time off my leash since.”
Morning’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you were in charge.”
That made him laugh outright. “Of the Inquisition? Not at all. They do need me, and not only for the mark, but they’re less than thrilled about that at the moment.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “How do you know they won’t turn me away, then?”
Ilya shot her a smile. “I can be quite persuasive. Besides, you’re sure to charm them all.” She would have thought that was a bit of mean-spirited teasing, but his tone was perfectly, bafflingly earnest. “Lean forward in the saddle as we’re going uphill, now. Heels down.”
As they rounded back towards the meadow where they had begun their walk, Morning was surprised to find herself reluctant to have her own two feet back on the ground already. She supposed she ought to brace herself for looking up at him all the time again, if nothing else.
Ilya was soon offering her a smile alongside a hand to dismount. “How did that feel? Not so frightening?”
“… Not so frightening,” Morning conceded, and couldn’t quite help returning his smile as she stepped down.
As Ilya set about adjusting the stirrups once more, she crept back over to stroke the horse’s nose, enjoying the sensation of its warm breath and soft skin against her knuckles.
“Would you like to go for a real ride?”
Morning looked up to find that his grin had turned suddenly mischievous. “What do you mean ‘a real ride’?” she asked warily.
“With me, at a gallop. You only have to hold on.” She must have gone pale, as Ilya quickly added, “You don’t have to, of course, I won’t be —”
“Alright,” she interrupted him, to both their surprise.
His grin returned in a flash. “Are you certain?”
Morning nodded, her mouth dry and her own smile nervous. “I trust you.”
It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was already standing on the supply crate they had chosen as a makeshift stepping stool, that the exact logistics of the situation fully dawned on her. She almost balked, but the sheer foolishness of being more frightened of touching him than she was of the ride itself stayed her, and after a moment’s hesitation she took hold of his arm and climbed up into the saddle behind him.
Her breath caught sharply and her back stiffened as a sudden chord of panic rang through her chest at the sensation of — Maker, how stupid — of brushing against his back. “Here,” Ilya said, reaching back to gently catch hold of one of her wrists. He must have felt her seize up. “Hold onto my waist tight and don’t let go. I’ll let you know before we gallop.”
Compared to this, the mental image of herself being flung off the horse and tumbling down the hillside was almost comforting. She gritted her teeth and wrapped her arms around him and strained to banish the butterflies battering the inside of her ribs. When was the last time she had touched someone like this?
He offered her several other cautions and reassurances, but she could scarcely make them out over the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. Finally, a bit more pointedly, he asked, “Are you alright?”
Morning was again grateful he couldn’t see her face, although she had no idea what sort of grimace she was wearing. “Yes,” she replied, more firmly than she felt. She shifted as she tried to figure out how to sit in the saddle with him taking up so much of it.
“Alright, then. Here we go,” Ilya announced cheerfully.
The trot they began with with proved short-lived, and all the reservations she’d felt about touching him flew past her as she felt the horse’s gait shift and quicken, leaving her thumping up and down against the saddle. Morning yelped and squeezed him tight. “I thought you said you would warn me!”
Ilya’s melodic laugh sounded suddenly menacing. “Oh, this isn’t a gallop.”
She swallowed hard. “It’s not?”
“This is a gallop — hold on now,” he laughed, and beneath them the horse lurched forward into a blazing sprint, its enormous muscles churning beneath her and leaving both of them bouncing with the force of its stride. Halfway into a scream of wild terror, Morning remembered it might scare the horse, and pressed her face against Ilya’s coat in a useless attempt to stifle it. It wasn’t until her lungs had run out of breath that she dared to peek out again, and found the picturesque countryside she had admired earlier reduced to a smear of paint as it rushed past. She must be a good horse after all, Morning thought dizzily; they had to be going about a hundred times faster than every horse that had galloped past her wagon on the road to Redcliffe.
She didn’t dare to lean over and try to see what might lie ahead of them, and her only warning of what came next was the sensation of the horse’s powerful hindquarters contracting sharply and then, with alarming force, springing into a flying leap. She let out another shriek as they sailed airborne over a toppled tree. They landed with enough force that she was certain they would keep going straight into the ground, but the horse caught itself easily and sprang back into its stride. The sheer sense of momentum would have been breathtaking, if she’d had any breath left in the first place.
Between the thundering of her heartbeat and the hooves beneath them, Morning could hardly hear her own thoughts, but she could just barely cling onto her sense of haphazard bewilderment. She knew fear well, cold and damp and dreadful, and the scintillating terror that gripped her throat now was a stranger. Her cheeks hurt and her teeth ached from the cold as she grinned into the rushing autumn wind.
They lurched to the side as the horse rounded a bend in the road, sending another heart-stopping thrill through her and leaving her fingers aching from how tightly they clutched at Ilya’s waist. Morning screamed again, dizzy and gleeful, and then she was laughing. Once she had begun she couldn’t stop, and she laughed until she could hardly breathe and her ribs ached and tears stung at her eyes.
As she held onto Ilya for dear life — this man who was all but a stranger, her only friend in the world — it occurred to her for the first time that being alive might mean something more than simply not being dead.