“You know, I have a confession to make.”
She was startled to see that the relentless dreamer was embarrassed!
“It was done only to bribe you, you know. But in truth … in truth, I think I enjoyed it as much as you. And I’m ashamed, because I still don’t understand why.”
He kicked at the dirt.
138
Dream Done Green
She smiled understandingly. “It’s the old bonds you talk about, Per. I think they must work both ways.”
She walked up to him and entwined her left hand in his mane, threw the other over his back. A pull and she was up. Her movement was done smoothly . . . she’d practiced it ten thousand times in her mind.
Both hands dug tightly into the silver-black mane. Leaning forward, she pressed her cheek against the cool neck and felt ropes of muscle taut beneath the skin. The anticipation was so painful it hurt to speak,
“I’m ready,” she whispered breathlessly.
“So am I,” he replied.
Then the horse Pericles gave her what few humans had had for millennia, what had been outlawed in the Declaration of Animal’s Rights, what they’d shared in the Meadows of Blood a billion years ago.
Gave her back the small part of the dream that was hers.
Tail flying, hooves digging dirt, magnificent body moving effortlessly over the rolling hills and grass, the horse became brother to the wind as he and his rider thundered off toward the waiting mountains. . . .
And that’s why there’s confusion in the old records. Because they knew all about Casperdan in the finest detail, but all they knew about the horse Pericles was that he was a genius and a poet. Now, there’s ample evidence as to his genius. But the inquisitive are puzzled when they search and find no record of his poetry.