The Fires of Spring

Chapter Seven

Lilith had arisen early and was at the stable before first light, while it was still dark and the horses were beginning to stir. She'd travelled there muffled against the cold, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that she gave to the trainer and groom, with the instruction that he was to muck out the horses, feed them, and then leave for the day.

"Be here tomorrow, but take today off," she said, and conjured up a kind smile for him.

After all, she wanted to spend as long alone as she could, in the company of the gentle brutes with their warm bodies and their silent companionship.

She trusted that Christopher, who had curled up next to her in bed after spending the day being simultaneously chatty and sulky, and irritating her wherever she went, would not want to wake early. Nor would any of the androids, whom she had specifically ordered to leave her alone for as long as possible, come to disturb her quiet contemplation.

And so she could groom Oak, one of the horses and her favourite gelding, in silence, listening to the stamps and muffled nickers of the horses about her.

Lilith even went so far as to sing quietly for the horse, a small ditty she didn't even know she remembered, as she brushed him. She felt delightfully peaceful as she, surrounded by the smell of leather and saddle soap, neatly folded a blanket into a saddle bag and threw it over Oak's back.

It was still very early when she lead Oak out into the yard, and pulled herself up into the saddle. His breath fogged the morning air, and the sun, while it had broken over the horizon, could not yet be seen above the trees, or even amongst their trunks.

He seemed as impatient as her to be going, for he snorted and stamped at the ground. 

She nudged him to a walk and, shaking his head, he obliged her. Then, when they made their way out of the yard and had reached the road still used by terrain vehicles, she spurred him to a canter.

Oak flew down the road, with Lilith on his back, light as air, bent over his neck like the jockey over Whiplash, when Lilith had watched her at Ascot with Henry by her side, urging Hellsbane on. She bent low over his neck, feeling the cold air slap her face and howl past her ears, their speed turning its stillness into a tempest.

After a few minutes, she reined him into a walk and guided Oak onto a path hidden between the trees. He snorted once and kicked up his hooves a bit, but with a firm hand and a gentle word, she set him straight on a narrow path.

It was not very long until they reached a small lake, more of a pond, really, where Lilith pulled Oak to a stop and left him by a grassy knoll, happily pulling clover up by the roots.

Lilith turned to the lake now. It was perfectly still, as still as the morning air chilled by spring-melted snows. Not a creature stirred, and not a breath of wind made the water ripple. It was smooth as a mirror, casting an image of the trees and rocks back at them, and twinning Lilith when she came to stand at the water's edge.

She closed her eyes. The cold had sunk into her flesh, past the warmth of her riding coat, and it was all she could feel. Opening her arms, she welcomed the frigid air, welcomed the feeling of cold that dominated her senses and let her forget about everything; Christopher, Henry, Colm Brightley, the EPRC, even President Frye, they all faded away, driven out by the cold.

She felt serene. At peace. It was glorious.

For a moment, a bit of foolishness seized her, and she indulged it. She was so often sensible, and was so very rarely foolish. "Sensible, sensible Lilith" Christopher had always mocked her, and he was right, for Lilith was a creature of pragmatic sensibility.