She gripped the rein, all the same. Her hands must ache.

“If you annoy him like that,” Marak said, “he simply grows worse. But he will always turn his head to a gentle tug, like that, yes, that’s enough. And if he hesitates to turn, use the quirt on the opposite shoulder, just a touch.”

“What if I make him angry?” Clearly this was an abiding fear.

“Does a midge annoy you? Your pulling on his jaw annoys him, I say. It makes his mouth sore. Touch lightly. Pull lightly. But only when you want him to turn. Perhaps twice a day, when we camp and when we start out.”

She did try, and loosened the amount of rein, but the knuckles were still white in their grip on the loose rein.

“All right. Let the rein fall to your lap,” he said. “Let it drop.” He saw now how it was, that this was a woman for whom the whole world had run away in chaos, and she was given one rein, and this one rein managed her course toward the edge of the world. She managed it with an iron grip. “Listen to me. Trust me. Let it drop.”

It was as if he asked her to leap over a cliff.

“Drop it, I say.”

She carefully let the rein lie in her lap, and sat like a rock precariously balanced, awaiting disaster.

“Foot up,” he said, while their beasts walked side by side, “in the crook of his neck. That stops you leaning forward and him pitching you over his head. Shoulders behind the small of your back. That prevents you sliding back over his rump. Your hips move as he moves.”

She sat like a rock.

“You’ve made love,” he said. “You were a wife. Follow him.”

She gave him a shocked glance. Her eyes were wide and frightened.

“There are worse things than falling off,” he said while that silence persisted. “Let your back sway. Don’t forget how.”

She gathered up the rein, having proved the beast would not bolt. He had robbed her, perhaps, of one sense of dominance over the world. Now he told her to make love to what she feared, and her spine was still stiff, her carriage eloquent of offense. But her spine began to give. She listened.

“If you wish to live,” he said, “make this beast your ally. If you should become separated from the rest, if you can stay with the besha, she’ll shade you from the sun, she’ll shelter you from the wind, and she’ll inevitably carry you to water if you don’t touch the rein. She’s your greatest help. She might be your life.”

She did not want to hear that either, he thought. But she listened. Her besha was a good deal happier with the partnership.