“Good boy,” he praised the stallion before putting the bottle back into the side pocket, placing his foot into the stirrup and hoisting himself up onto the animal’s back.
He settled into the saddle, the move as natural and as comfortable as breathing. He gripped the reins with his left hand and clicked his tongue at the horse. “Let’s go.”
The stallion trotted on and Mitchell leaned back in the saddle, giving the horse his head, confident he knew his way home.
The sting in his cut hand began to throb in reminder, so Mitchell leaned forward and squeezed his thighs. Rain surged forward into a canter and he rode with the wave of movement beneath him.
They cantered over the hills, the grass lush and green in the paddocks to the right. The land to the left had little forage left as it had be
