There was no sign of Mace, but she knew he was there, and his last comment recurred to her every few minutes while she rode, making her face flush with warmth even beneath the numbness imparted by the wind. A freezing wind screamed in her ears, and she tasted the bitterness of adrenaline in the back of her throat. The forest flew by her, trees sometimes far off and sometimes so close that the tips of branches whipped against her mailed body. There was nothing but speed, a pure, clean speed that she had never achieved with Barty’s aging stallion. But after a bit she found that she could no longer feel the weight of the metal at all. For a few minutes the armor weighed heavily, seeming to rattle her whole body each time Rake landed on his front hooves. When she judged the circle wide enough, she checked the moss on the rocks and began to ride south, Pen’s grey cloak flying behind her. She took the stallion in the wide circle Mace had described, her whole body itching for the moment when she could go straight and pick up speed.
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