Ely, the gelding, was laboring but they had to reach the blue ravine fast. Would the gelding even make it to the ravine?

Too much, he thought, even for my amazing Ely. Fool! You crossed the wrong kind of men this time. To what end? The right and wrong of the world is no affair of mine, and yet, here I be on a spent horse under a glaring moon trying to save some poor girl from evil, evil men.

His skittering thoughts evened as he became entranced by the steady, strengthening rhythm of the horse. Leaning forward close to the beasts neck, he spoke, firm, guttural; Go, Ely, Go.