‘Settled on a name?’ Talemir prompted the youth. Wilder looked relieved. ‘I was thinking —’ ‘Biscuit,’ Malik declared, his face deadly serious. Wilder blinked at his brother. ‘You’re drunk.’ ‘We had to entertain ourselves somehow.’ Malik grinned. ‘But your stallion seems to like the name.’ ‘It makes no sense,’ Wilder argued. ‘Does too. His eyes are the colour of that gold shortbread Cook makes.’ Talemir’s shoulders shook with laughter. ‘Biscuit…’ To both the older warriors’ delight, the horse seemed to warm to the name, whinnying softly.
