They rode.
Nobody spoke and nobody congratulated anyone. Darion didn't shout anything about a job well done or what they had just pulled off. That could wait. Everything that wasn't riding could wait until they were back inside Percvale's walls.
The horses were something else entirely.
Valdenmoor's stables had fed these animals properly, which meant they ran the way well-fed horses ran, with everything they had and no suggestion that they were thinking about stopping.
The ground disappeared under them. Trees on the roadside blurred. The wind hit Darion's face hard enough that he had to narrow his eyes and lean forward into it.
He had ridden plenty since arriving in Percvale. He had ridden tired horses, horses that were surviving on reduced feed, horses that moved because he asked them to and not because they had any particular enthusiasm for it.
