the horse and rider emerge from between the trees, so bright it hurts to look at them. The mount is the brilliant white of fresh-fallen snow, the horseman golden-haired and high-cheekboned, his eyes glittering like blue stars as he looks first at the girl, and then at me. Oh, he’s beautiful, even I can see that, but there’s nothing human about that beauty. It’s thin ice over deep water, a cornice over a precipice, a diving hawk with its talons outstretched. He swings one long leg over the back of his saddle, drops gracefully to the ground, and spreads his arms wide. “My love,” Jennet says and
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