The clop of hooves was my only warning as the Guardian appeared at my side, riding a massive black stallion. “Have you spent much time on a horse, Sparrow?” he asked. “Can I ride? Yes. Do I often? No.” “Pity.” Meaning I’d be spending many, many hours on this horse. What if I pushed him off his? Would he break his neck? Wouldn’t that be nice. “We’re ready, Zavier,” the Guardian said. Zavier nodded, and without fanfare or announcement, we left the clearing, my horse keeping pace behind his. He rode to the trees, a cue for everyone to do the same. A minute later, five warriors galloped past, the
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