The waterways of Nen Harn twinkled on the horizon. Overhead, orange light stole coy glances at horse and rider through the branches of trees. Son of Mouse's steady plod could be heard crumpling leaf litter and loam underhoof as sunset dimmed the landscape to a warm sienna. It was like being inside a fading ember.
The hum of summer birds and insects surrounded them. A surreal, lively silence. Like music.
Ryheric had yearned for these solitary moments where he could be nothing, surrounded by everything. He thought of Kaes's words, and in this moment with no obligation for the next, he adopted them in his head, for himself.
"I am of nowhere, claimed by no-one."
It felt like rest. Close to peace, though not to be kept.
He came to the place where the fever had almost killed him, before they had traveled to Evendim for Silver's task, it felt like a very long time ago. Once there, he unsaddled Son of Mouse, tended and cleaned him.
The stretches Greengrove had given him to rehabilitate the horse's healing foot were done. Silent, patient. The colt cooperated. Skittish at times, but quick to learn when Ryheric asked him through the rein and pressure on the neck to lower his head. A calming routine.
Horses could kill men. Even a sweet, coddled pony could crush the skull of the best warrior, if its role was forgotten.
Ryheric understood innately that a horse's life was always one of pressure when kept by men. Whether through fear, force and slavery, or through mutual ground, effort and cooperation by their masters. Even if by cooperation, a happy horse formed out of a beast able to devote itself to fit the rules. Men bade, horses obliged.
If they did not, the pressure by fence, rope or stirrup increased until the horse took the path of least resistance. Or until something broke. If that happened, they would be called dangerous.
The dangerous horses were undesirable. Creatures none could abide nor handle. Wild things despised, turned loose or killed. Nasty, intolerable outcasts that bucked, spooked, shied, reared or kicked.
Ryheric thought of the little dew-flower. Running by the stream, wild and bare. So happy in that brief moment to see him. Vivid, temporary violet and yellow, obscured then dulled behind khaki rushes. On loan to immediacy, on loan to the wind. Returned and penned in to hesitation at the last moment. Fear. Doubt. Guilt?
Mauve returned to her like a veil of modesty despite herself. She wore it freely. Just like Ryheric was freely following the rules of Breelanders.
Was she? Forgotten. Abandoned. Unhandled, swinging wildly between free defiance and primal, aching need. He understood on that primal level, though he knew the girl probably couldn't tell. Maybe that was better.
As these thoughts sifted through the man's mind, Son of Mouse's eyes half closed. The black colt kept his head and sturdy neck tilted down, close to the ground. Deceptively docile. A heavy equine sigh released whatever tensions the day had brought to the black colt. He knew the rules, understood the expectations his master held of him. It wouldn't be long now until his hock was fully healed.
Ryheric observed the colt as he always did at this part of their day. It struck him then that the silent pressures faced by every riding horse, were not unlike the pressures he had accepted and obligated himself to when he had agreed to front his company.
Much like Son of Mouse, he'd given up his freedom to roam. He had given up his solitude, even though his heart writhed for it every day. He had obligated himself to the rules of civilisation. Integrity, laws, social customs, manners and expected behaviour.
He had to learn fast, and take responsibility as a leader, improving himself to pull it off with instant strength. A "fake it 'til you make it" for his group. Nothing less than perfection seemed acceptable. That was the only time the pressure was released - just like training a horse. Released pressure for meeting the drivers' needs.
What a ride it had all been, too.
Son of Mouse slept soundly on his feet, head lowered, while Ryheric then made a small fire and sat by it. Other reflections of the recent days slid slowly through his mind as night fell.
He didn't bother trying to sleep. His dreams were devoured by red and black.
