Brynja reached out with her free hand. The mare’s coat was warm and smooth, her muscles shifting beneath the skin. “She’s beautiful.”
“Aye.” Hagen’s voice held an odd note. When Brynja glanced back, he wasn’t looking at the horse.
Her cheeks heated. She turned her attention firmly back to the mare.
“What’s her name?”
“Doesn’t have one yet. She’s too new. Da just had a few more brought over from Oban. They don’t like the ship so I’m trying to calm her, get her used to her new world.” Hagen stepped back, giving Brynja space. “You could name her, if you’d like.”
“Me?”
“Why not? You’re going to be the one riding her.”
The casual certainty in his voice, that she would stay, that she would need a horse of her own, should have rankled her.Instead, it felt like a gift. Like he was offering her an opportunity she hadn’t dared imagine.
“Freya,” Brynja said softly. “Freya is a goddess in my mother’s tongue. She looks regal the way her coat catches the light.”
“Freya.” Hagen tested the word, his accent making it sound different but no less lovely. “It suits her.”
The mare’s ears flicked toward Brynja at the sound of her new name, as if she approved.
“Now,” Hagen said, all serious again, “let’s get you in the saddle. Come here.”
He led Freya to the mounting block. Brynja climbed up, suddenly aware of how high the horse’s back looked from this angle.
“Put your foot in the stirrup. Aye, that’s it. Now swing your other leg over. I’ve got you.”
His hands steadied her as she mounted, one at her waist, one at her elbow. The contact was brief but sure, and then she was seated, looking down at him from an unfamiliar height.
“How does it feel?” he asked.
“Strange because I’m so high off the ground. Powerful.” Freya shifted beneath her, and Brynja gripped the reins tighter.
“Easy.” Hagen’s hand covered hers again, loosening her grip. “Remember, she feels everything you do. If you’re tense, she’ll be tense. Breathe.”
Brynja drew in a slow breath, then released it. Freya’s ears swiveled back toward her, listening.
“Better,” Hagen said. “Now we’ll walk. Just around the yard at first. Press with your legs, gently, and she’ll move forward.”
Brynja did as he instructed. Freya moved into an easy walk, Hagen keeping pace beside them, one hand resting lightly on the mare’s shoulder.
“Good. Keep your back straight, shoulders relaxed. You’re doing well.”
They circled the yard, and with each circuit, Brynja felt more confident, more attuned to the mare’s movements. It was like learning a new language, subtle cues and responses, a conversation without words.
“Want to try a trot?” Hagen asked after a few rounds.
Brynja nodded, her earlier nervousness replaced by something close to excitement.
“Press a bit more firmly with your legs. She’ll speed up. And you’ll need to post, rise and fall with her rhythm. It takes practice, so don’t worry if it feels awkward at first.”
Brynja pressed with her legs. Freya’s walk shifted to a bumpy trot, and Brynja found herself bouncing uncomfortably in the saddle.
“Try to find her rhythm,” Hagen called, jogging alongside them. “Up, down. Up, down. There. You’ve almost got it.”
It took another full circuit before Brynja found the timing, and then suddenly it clicked. She rose and fell with Freya’s gait, the bouncing smoothing into something almost graceful.
“That’s it!” Hagen’s grin was infectious. “Now you’re controlling her on your own.”
