The horse lifted his head and snorted with a warning to his Mistress who knelt at the edge of the stream drinking her fill. Green eyes narrowed as she grew still, a hand drifted to the sword at her side as she listened to the surrounding forest. The large warhorse shifted closer to her in a protective stance and her small form rose to her feet with a slow, lithe grace.
Her gloved hand remained upon the hilt of her sword and with one gesture of her other hand the black warhorse melted into the trees at the edge of the creek side.
She stepped into the underbrush on the opposite side of where the horse went and she grew still and waited as the one who approached sounded like a whole army. She knew it was one person, mounted and not being wary nor quiet and that puzzled her as the lands were in a grave state of unrest at this time.
Green eyes watched the brown horse come into the clearing and the man atop the horse slid off with a jingle of spurs and mail. She could see the light sword strapped to his back and his long dark hair was bound into a pony tail. He knelt at the water’s edge and drank from his cupped hands but she knew he knew she was present and she tensed, ready to fight.