A Borrowed Name

5 - Lucky Horse-Shoe

When she came across the mare again, it was by accident.

The road was lined either side with prickly bushes, planted to help keep the wind off the surrounding fields, though further ahead a breakage appeared. A thick oak tree burst upwards from the brambles, its crown casting a deep shadow over the route.

Underneath lay a cluster of large rocks, which Gytha swore she hadn't seen when she rode by earlier, shaded by the leaves. Around it, the air seemed alive, thick and full of noise. 

As she approached, a fresh stench of iron hit Gytha and she raised a hand to cover her nose and mouth as she realised what the rocks actually were.

The messenger-boy's horse lay dead, a trickle of blood seeping out from its open mouth and mixing with the froth, eyes open but unseeing. A swarm of flies had begun to settle and the hired-sword grimaced as she watched one land on the horse's unblinking eye.

Although the shade from the tree had turned its coat jet black, but there was no denying the white markings sloping down the mare's face.

Gytha nudged the creature with her foot, and huffed when she got no response. While she was pleased that it had served its purpose, a feeling of guilt ultimately settled heavy in her stomach as she looked down at its slumped form. She must've pushed the poor beast too hard during the journey, leaving it to suffocate in lungs filled with blood, dead on the side of the road.

She sighed and looked at the collection of houses down the road. Above her, the sun was halfway across the sky, and she reckoned that now without a horse to speed up the route to the inn, it would dip further in the distance – darkening the heavens ever so slightly.

Brushing a lock of brown hair from her face, Gytha warily eyed an approaching grey cloud, and urged herself to walk quickly before it could hit the village.