Just as I was thinking that I heard the approach of a trotting horse. His tread on the path told me he’d been shod. The clank of the iron shoes was different from the softer ones of my own steed. It made me wonder if horseshoes were something else I’d need to worry about. Traveling horses needed such padding for their hooves.
In a moment, I spotted both horse and rider. An older male in the dark gray costume of an itinerant preacher rode a bony cinnamon-colored gelding. The horse nickered to Frey, greeting him the way friendly horses did. Frey answered back without any warning in his voice, which is how I knew the approaching horse was a gelding, not a stallion that Frey might consider an instinctual rival.
The man pulled up to eye Shama. “Be with the Fates.”
“Thank you, and you,” I answered him back.
“Are you heading for Meritville?” he asked.
I knew nothing about the road ahead. If there was a town ahead named Meritville, I supposed I would pass it by. So I nodded my head.
The preacher eyed my horse, probably noting the stallion’s youth and good looks, but I didn’t think there was anything covetous in his regard. But safety came in distance, so I nodded once more, and said, “Go with the Fates” and urged Frey forward.
“And you,” the man said, although he looked rather disinclined to journey on, perhaps wanting a bit of gossip.
The preacher rested a moment, as if watching me, but then I heard him click to his horse and the two trotted on, heading for the village I’d just left.