She pulled her black to an instant halt and
swung from the saddle, tossing the reins over the head of the horse to
keep him standing there.
Yet, after she had made half a dozen hurried paces something forced
her to turn and look again at the handsome head of the horse. He
stood quite motionless, with his ears pricking after her, and now as
she stopped he whinnied softly, hardly louder than the whisper of a
man. So she ran back again and threw the reins over the horn of the
saddle; he should be free to wander where he chose through the free
mountains, but as for her, she knew very certainly now that she would
never mount that saddle again, or control that triumphant steed with
the touch of her hands on the reins. She put her arms around his neck
and drew his head down close.
There was a dignity in that parting, for it was the burning of her
bridges behind her. She drew back, the horse followed her a pace, but
she raised a silent hand in the night and halted him; a moment later
she was lost among the boulders.
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