Admittedly, Naaramare agreed with the stranger. But although not being particularly useful, that part of her which supplied her memories gave her the vague idea that at one point, she had adored horses of any kind.
"The other option is to set it loose," she said, "and dangerous as it might be, I don't think it would live long." She smiled at the stranger. It was insane; here she was, having just not-really-helped face down a wraith and chattering to someone who'd been injured during it over the top of a possibly dangerous horse, and yet she felt better than she had in . . .well, since she could actually remember.
"I am Naaramare," she said, in greeting. "May we know your name?"
While she asked this, she carefully extended her hand to the horse. Granted, it seemed to be accepting Mithrandir well enough, but . . .she was not Mithrandir, and had no desire to suffer painful bites. So . . .best to take it slow and see how the beast would react.
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