Over the next few hours we rode silently, becoming acquainted with our mounts. There were no mishaps. Everyone managed to ride bareback better than I’d thought, even Colby. I was surprised at how quickly trust had formed between us and our mounts, as if we’d all been riding together for years.
It wasn’t much different from riding in Montana. Sure, the trees were bigger, a lot bigger. And there were strange creatures, those three-ringed planets, and all sorts of other weird things I was sure we’d yet to encounter, but simply the feeling of riding was the same.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. I’d ridden at Halton House a few dozen times. But it was always short rides, half hour, hour tops. Not like this, in the middle of nowhere with no civilization forever. Forever, forever. I rolled the word around in my mouth a few times. It sounded vast, endless, and infinite. Maybe this planet was larger than Earth, maybe a hundred times larger or maybe even a thousand. I didn’t know, maybe no one did.
When we arrived at a fork in the trail, Glooscap stopped his stallion and got off. He looked down the trail to the right and then the one to the left, as if he was debating on which way to take.
“One is shorter, but rougher, not as safe,” he said.
“What do you figure?” I said, and twisted back to look at the others.
Colby, Anna, and Tabby were already slouched over, worn out from the afternoon’s ride. I didn’t think they could handle another few hours, let alone a few hours of rough riding. Glooscap must’ve sensed this too, because without another word, he mounted his stallion and started off on the right trail. The one that was supposed to be safer.