by SFnovelists
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The mare was alone. She wore no saddle or bridle and carried no rider. Still, there was no mistaking that tall and massive body or that strong arched profile with its dark, wise eye.
Elen looked into that eye and found the mare's name there. It came to Elen first as a feeling: a sense of snow and clouds and peaceful whiteness. The word that described that feeling was an Earth word, and it was a name: Blanca.
"Blanca," Elen said. Her voice was as raw as her throat. "Please. Take me- "
The rest would not come as words. She held the image of the horses and the pasture and the world called Hesperia inside her head, and hoped that Blanca could see it, too.
Blanca knelt. Mount, that meant.
Elen took a breath to steady her hammering heart. The confusion of doubt and fear that driven her away from the mare and from Ymbria was still there, but the terror of Faerie was stronger. She wound her fingers in mane and swung her leg over the broad white back. When she was secure, the mare surged upright.
Elen was in Blanca's power now. All she could do was hold on and hope.
When Blanca strode out, there was a road under her feet, straight and clear through the wilds of Faerie. Elen dared not loose her death grip on Blanca's mane to hunt in her pocket for the book of maps. Blanca was a worldrunner; she must know where to go.