When Ainya pushed herself up and swung her leg over Southwind’s back, she almost slid off the other side. Tarquin darted forward and grabbed her ankle, then yelped as his own hurt ankle took his weight.
“Are you sure you can ride?” he asked her.
“We don’t have a choice.” She reached down. “Take my hand.”
“I need to check on my horse.”
“Hop’s dead,” Ainya said. “Her neck’s broken. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no.” Tarquin put his hand over his mouth, blinking hard to force back the sudden tears. “It’s my fault.”
“The haldur would’ve killed her if you’d been riding her or not,” Ainya said. “Just be glad it was quick.” She reached down again, gritting her teeth as she moved. “Come on. We can’t stay here. Wolves’ll smell the blood and come.”