She galloped her dappled grey stallion, Frey, until she saw that he was sweating and breathing hard. She quickly pulled him back into a walk.
“I’m sorry, Frey, I wasn’t paying attention,” she told the stallion, patting his shoulder and wiping away the tears that had overwhelmed her when she realized that she could never return to the only home she’d ever known.
Frey, who was in sincerity, her only friend, was not her familiar. He was only a horse, but one who’d been with her since she’d raised him as a colt. He’d been born to a mare that died giving birth, and no one had wanted to be bothered with a motherless foal. When they’d been about to put him down, Shama had taken the baby into her cottage and bottle fed him every hour. Despite the predictions from those around her, Frey had survived.
Perhaps, that’s why they were such good friends. They were both orphans, both unwanted. Or, so Shama told him as she brushed and tended to his needs every day.
But, once the colt grew into a fine young steed, the farmer wanted him back. That wasn’t fair, but Shama hadn’t argued. She’d traded two years of labor for the right to claim the stallion as hers.