Hynyn, Hyn, and Narunal: Stave, Linden, and Mahrtiir. The last of the ten that had set out from Revelstone with the begrudged permission of the Masters.

And a mount for Jeremiah.

A mount for Jeremiah, who had never ridden and would not throw himself off balance, and could therefore sit his Ranyhyn as safely as if the beast were made of stone.

Linden had watched Naybahn and Mhornym carry Branl and Clyme away. She believed that she would never see Rhohm, Hrama, and Bhanoryl again: their riders were dead. As for Rohnhyn and Naharahn, Bhapa and Pahni, she did not know what to think. She could hardly believe that they would be able to sway the Masters.

But Jeremiah had a mount! He would be better cared-for aback a Ranyhyn than he would have been in her arms. And maybe—Oh, maybe! The experience of riding might serve to guide or lure him out of his dissociation.

She had seen stranger things during her years at Berenford Memorial. Sometimes a simple touch was enough, if it were the right touch given at the right moment—by the right person.

Her hugs were not the reassurance that Jeremiah needed; or she was not. The knowledge was anguish. Nonetheless she told herself that she could be content with any form of consolation that restored his mind.

In their disparate fashions, Stave and Mahrtiir greeted the approach of the Ranyhyn. As the Giants watched, simultaneously bemused and entranced, the former Master spoke formally of Land-riders and proud-bearers, sun-flesh and sky-mane. At the same time, the Manethrall prostrated himself, pressing his forehead to the sand in a manner that seemed both self-effacing and exultant.

Clearly none of the horses had run hard or suffered trials: a dramatic contrast to their state when they had been called in Andelain. They must have left the Hills in plenty of time, and known of a comparatively direct descent from the Upper Land.

With his neck imperiously arched, Hynyn stamped to a halt in front of Stave and whinnied like a shout of defiance. Prancing, Hyn moved among the Giants toward Linden. The mare’s affection was plain as she nuzzled Linden’s shoulder, asking to be petted. Linden complied willingly; but she did not look away from Hyn’s companions.

Narunal stopped near Mahrtiir’s out-stretched arms and nickered a soft demand. Apparently the stallion was impatient with Mahrtiir’s obeisance and wanted him to rise. The fourth horse paused a few paces behind the others. The younger roan’s eyes were fixed on Jeremiah, but Linden could not interpret their expression. Was that pride? Anticipation? Dread?

When Hynyn whinnied again, Mahrtiir rose to his feet. For a moment, he stroked Narunal’s nose and neck, communing in some intuitive fashion with his mount. Then he turned to Linden.