A Morning's Ride 226 words

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Golgothus

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She sat astride the only horse she had ever ridden, a blue roan mare so fast she still got a knot in her stomach when it galloped, even after all these
years, though she had never fallen and had never been thrown. Horse and rider trusted each other completely, and she could feel the muscles in the roan's back,
shifting, clenching, and releasing. It was a pleasant morning, the sun burning off the fog and the chill, and warming the mare's coat. She heard hooves pounding the earth
before another rider abruptly pulled up to her atop a terrifying black destrier, a powerful warmblood with a lathered neck whose breath formed great clouds of mist around his head.
She knew the rider as an excellent horseman and remained relaxed, but she watched with mild amusement as he fought the stallion as it caught the mare's scent, dancing back and forth
before briefly rearing.

"Your Grace?" he asked expectantly, raising his visor and looking at the writhing, pulsing thing bellowing in the distance.

"Bring me it's head."

"Yes, your Grace." He straight reined the stallion and tapped him with his spurs, cantering away before stopping again.

"Which head, your Grace?" he yelled.

"The ugly one" she replied, calmly turning her roan back towards the stable, smiling as her general roared with laughter.
 
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TexasPoet

When Is It Dark Enough?
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Quite good! You have a “her” in your first paragraph that’s not needed.


Tp