The man nodded dimly, as the first little panel of the bridge between Oliver and his new men was laid.
"These horses, beautiful creatures," Firyr said, stroking one. There seemed a positive hint of madness in the man, seeing him change emotions so quickly. From erratic howling, to sudden tenderness, as he ran bloody fingers down the horse's muzzle.
"They are," Nila agreed, sliding down her tree. "It seems almost a shame to leave them. There must be as many as thirty still running around. Think of how much gold we could get."
"Indeed," Oliver was in agreement. The horses were too valuable to let run loose. Even if they couldn't capture them personally, they couldn't allow their enemy to take hold of them either. "We have time now. Whomever the enemy chooses to send will perish here. It would take a hundred men to get us to move – and now they don't have the horses to properly chase us should we decide to flee."
