The day dawned bright and golden over the gently rolling plains of the Riddermark. Clouds passed in shredded puffs, escorted by soft, intermittent breezes. The tall grasses were still verdant with the remnants of springtime, not yet turned to their darker hues as they would after weeks beneath a shadeless sun.
A woman walked among the waist-high blades in one of countless and nearly identical fields that were laid out like a patchwork on the low hills that stretched northward from the White Mountains. Her head was uncovered, and the flaxen cap of her hair glinted in the bright sunlight like a burnished helm. A generous figure that hinted at the passing of youth and the dawn of mature womanhood, stretched pleasantly against the plain, greenish-brown dress she donned. Wildflowers danced and waved their heads of white, yellow, pink, and purple. Her fingers reached out to brush their softness, delicately sampling their silken petals. She plucked one in particular and tucked it into the hair just above her right ear.
A dozen or so yards in her wake, there was a massive, piebald stallion following, though he paused frequently to plunge his face into the sweet patches of clover. But never more than a minute would pass before he found the woman with his eye again, and his long legs carried him lazily but steadily to keep pace with her. The summer flies tickled at his nose and withers, making his saddle-less back quiver and twitch.
At length, the woman passed down a long, sloping trail between the waving grasses, and into a shallow ravine that was lined with willow trees. Here, their arching, drooping branches formed a sheltering space that felt like a sacred temple; one whose roof was that of slow-dancing green fronds that blessed its devotees with cool shade. At the ravine's lowest point was a stream, and beside the stream was a wide, flat stone. Here, she sat down and removed her shoes.
The horse paused outside the tree-walled hollow and nosed skeptically at the willow branches. Then he bent his great head and passed within, the trailing limbs dragging over his gleaming hide and snagging on his tail. He dislodged them with a sharp flick.
The woman was tugging the skirt of her dress up along her pale, shapely calves. She gathered the fabric at her knees and then stretched out her toes to dip them into the flowing water.
Sinking his mighty hooves into the soft mud, the stallion moved to stand beside the woman on the rock. His velvet muzzle lowered down until it brushed against her shoulder, and she reached a hand up to affectionately stroke his chin. The wind fluttered down into the hollow and tossed the trees about them, and the woman looked up with a serene smile.
"'Tis good to sit here again," she whispered to the horse.
