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Every hoofbeat brought them closer.
His weary body was feverish and weak, and he was grateful for the glossy chestnut beneath him, grateful for his steady service. He ran his hand over Echo's neck.
Nimrodel, Nimrodel. How I have longed to hold you. How often I recall the time I held you last. How eager I am to hold you again.
There was no song in return, only the murmur of the water over the roots and grasses. But he was at peace. She was there. And the distance grew less, and less, and less, with every hoofbeat.
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