Nowhere To Be

The white horse, Wyndafrend, galloped hard and fast towards the orange pine tree objective, as Cwenawynn yelped a laughing objection to Ry.

Wyndafrend was a fine beast, nobly held and wasting very few movements. He gained speed with smooth solidity, the petite Eorling rider and valiant steed from Rohan a mix one who had ever seen the horsemen should know to expect only the best from.

Meanwhile, the far more boisterous juvenile horse, Son of Mouse, under Ryheric's urge, had leaped forwards. Joyous, prancing. Sensing the play and excitement, of his rider, and Cwenawynn nearby, and Wyndafrend's sensible horse-acceptance of the situation. He half-reared and misbehaved with pluck. It took all of Ryheric's skill in horsemanship even at the best of times, to make appearances that Kacis, whom Ryheric only named Son of Mouse aloud, was a tempered beast. His hock was well healed by now, and the young horse was back at his full potential.

The playfulness came in full swing. Son of Mouse moved, unruly with spring energy at first. Ryheric assertively corrected and circled him back twice to settle his airborne feet. Though, there was no severity from horse or rider during this well-rehearsed dance, and both Ry and Cwen laughed all the while during the improvised horse race.

Cwennie upon Wyndafrend easily overtook the less disciplined mount, even though Ryheric had bidden the colt surge forward for the edge at the beginning of their race. There was no true competition here. Son of Mouse was in the early learning stages of being ridden and training. Play like this would only serve to build the colt's schooling over time.

Ryheric did marvel at Wyndafrend though. Glad he knew horses well enough to choose the captured white horse as the gift for Cwenawynn back in Rohan. He understood Wyndafrend had once belonged to one of Thebold's slain riders. Stolen by Thebold's men from an unjustly slain Eorling before that. But he had never mentioned that to the girl. It gladdened his heart to see Wyndafrend and Cwennie bonding, regardless. Row had been a good horse to her, gentle and stout hearted. However, a rustic Breeland steed was never going to meet the demands of Cwennie's riding skill. She had told him that herself, one of the first days they had met two years before.

It was the first time he and Cwennie could simply be, since those times. Letting the horses run. Traveling West, at a meandering and lazy pace. There was no urgent, pressing reason. Nor was anyone depending on drawn steel or bent bow from either of them, for now.

He knew this time would be short-lived, and he intentionally took it for granted. Giving in to the peace, as Cwennie had long before urged him to do. Perhaps he was not ready, back then. Perhaps the temporary nature of it allowed him to let go this time. Perhaps it had been Greengrove and Silverstream's final, simple influences on him, after everything he had learned from his company. Leadership, integrity, loyalty, love. All the weight and pressure could here be released, leaving only the lasting joy of these notions with him.

He was the luckiest man alive.

The race was had. It spanned but a few moments, between one unruly young colt of darkest hue, and another sensible steed of the palest white, ridden by two people who could not themselves be more different. In good spirits, and ensuring to allow the little folk of the Shire enough space not to cause alarm, they would reach the Brandywine River in the coming days.

Ryheric was now fully for freedom, Cwenawynn for finally embracing her duty. No constraints from friends or foes, no expectations.

For the moment, it felt as though nothing had ever touched them, nor could it in that pure immediacy. Nightmares forgotten in the fading light of that day, the past insignificant. The future irrelevant.

Life was good.

They parted ways of an evening, the maiden well accustomed to the routines of making camp. Ryheric, taking his infamous walks as he had always done. Always preferring to sleep in solitude.