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The stables were larger than McCoy had expected.

From the road they had looked almost too immaculate to be real: long timber barns painted a deep green and white, broad paddocks divided by clean post-and-rail fencing, open yards swept clear of loose straw and manure. Beyond them, pasture rolled away beneath a high blue sky, broken by stands of trees and the darker line of forest farther off.

Closer in, the place smelled reassuringly less perfect.

Hay. Leather. Dust. Warm animals. Linseed oil. Damp earth somewhere beneath the sun-dried surface of the yards. A horse stamped inside one of the barns and another answered from across the paddock. Tack jingled as a staff member carried two bridles past the open doorway.

Jim stopped beside the nearest fence and looked around with unconcealed pleasure.

“Now this,” he said, “was a good idea.”

McCoy came up alongside him and rested both forearms on the rail.

“You said that before we left the ship.”

“I was right then too.”

“You’ve been here thirty seconds.”

Jim turned his face into the breeze and breathed deeply. “Smell that?”

McCoy smelled decomposing grass, resin… and liability.

“Grass, manure and something they’re using on the fences.”

“Saddle leather. Hay. Fresh air.”

“Manure.”

Jim gave him a look. “You’re determined not to enjoy this.”

“I’m keeping an open mind, and closed nostrils.”

Behind them, Spock had already wandered several meters along the fence, apparently more interested in the horses than in the argument.

Jim smiled and looked back across the nearest paddock.

There were perhaps a dozen animals grazing in loose groups: several bays, a heavy grey, two chestnuts, a pale palomino near the water trough. Most barely acknowledged the new arrivals.

One did.

At the far end of the field, a black horse lifted his head. He stood larger and finer than the others, his coat reflecting blue-black in the sunlight, neck arched as he watched the three strangers at the fence. For a moment he remained perfectly still.

Then, with no apparent provocation, he launched himself across the paddock.

McCoy straightened, his hand gripping the fence rail.

The horse accelerated in half a dozen strides, mane lifting, long legs eating the distance between the far rail and the near one. He came on fast enough that McCoy’s medical instincts began offering an unsolicited list of possible injuries. At the last moment the animal checked himself, turned sharply and swept past them parallel to the fence, throwing up dust and fragments of dry turf.

Jim followed every stride as the horse wheeled at the corner, came back at a collected trot and stopped several yards away, head high and nostrils wide.

Jim’s face had acquired the expression McCoy distrusted most.

“Oh, no.”

McCoy continued to stare at the beast and attempted to keep his face from doing anything medically honest.

Jim glanced at him. “What?”

“That look.”

“What look?”

“The one you get just before everybody else’s afternoon becomes complicated.”

Jim ignored him and held a hand towards the horse without reaching across the fence.

“Come here, handsome.”

The black horse considered him.

A man in stable clothes approached from the barn carrying a padd. He was perhaps forty, sun-browned and relaxed in the way of someone who spent more time outdoors than in offices.

“He likes an audience,” he said.

“I noticed.”

“That’s Apollo.”

“Apollo,” Jim repeated approvingly.

McCoy looked from Jim to the horse.

Of course his name was Apollo.

The gelding came another few steps towards the rail. Jim remained where he was, hand low and open, making no attempt to grab for him. Apollo stretched his neck, sniffed once at Jim’s fingers, then allowed the hand to move to the side of his face.

Jim rubbed the smooth black cheek.

“There you are.”

Apollo stood for perhaps three seconds, accepted the tribute as his due, then lifted his head out of reach.

The staff member smiled. “Your reservation said you were looking for something with a bit of life in him.”

“It did.”

McCoy turned slowly towards Jim.

“Your reservation said what?”

Jim continued watching Apollo. “They ask your riding level when you book.”

“And you told them?”

“The truth.”

“That ought to be a refreshing experience.”

Jim gave Apollo another stroke when the horse brought his head back within reach.

The staff member glanced at the padd in his hand. “James Kirk?”

“That’s right.”

“You listed advanced riding experience. Farm background, recreational riding, some jumping.”

McCoy stared at him.

Jim looked faintly smug. “I told you I could ride.”

“You told me you grew up around horses.”

“I did.”

“You omitted the résumé.”

“It never came up.”

The attendant glanced between them, amused but professional. “Apollo isn’t one of our general trail horses. We keep him for experienced riders. He’s very well trained, but he’s forward and he likes having something to do. If you give him mixed signals, he’ll make decisions for you.”

Jim’s smile widened. McCoy saw it and closed his eyes briefly.

The staff member noticed too. “That wasn’t meant as encouragement.”

“No, I understand.”

Apollo chose that moment to turn away, spring sideways at some private stimulus and canter ten meters across the paddock before stopping to look back at them.

Jim watched him go.

“He’ll do.”

“Jim.”

“What?”

McCoy pointed at the horse. “That animal has just demonstrated more excess energy in thirty seconds than I’ve expended all week.”

“He’s fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know what I’m looking at.” McCoy’s mind immediately produced an image of sickbay and a very long report.

The attendant laughed quietly. “He’s not dangerous, Doctor. Just energetic. We don’t send anyone out on him unless we’re satisfied they can handle him.”

McCoy seized on that. “Good.” He looked pointedly at Jim. “And let the horse decide, not him.”

Jim turned his head. “Bones.”

“What? I’m concerned about standards.”

The attendant laughed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll put him through his paces in the arena first. If either of us isn’t happy, we change horses.”

McCoy relaxed by perhaps half an inch.

Jim nodded easily. “Fair enough.”

Apollo came back to the fence and nudged Jim’s shoulder hard enough to move him. Jim laughed and pushed the long black nose aside.

“You are full of yourself, aren’t you?”

Apollo blew warm air over his sleeve.

McCoy watched them.

“I don’t know which one you’re talking to.”

Jim grinned and gave him that smile of his that had talked him into a hundred other bad ideas over the years.

The staff member consulted his padd. “Doctor McCoy?”

McCoy’s attention sharpened.

“Yes.”

“You listed intermediate experience.”

Jim turned very slowly. McCoy felt the afternoon tilt beneath him.

“Did I?”

“You did.”

Jim’s eyebrows rose.

McCoy remembered the booking form.

More specifically, he remembered Jim sitting opposite him in the recreation room the previous evening, making the entire business sound offensively simple.

“It’ll be fun,” Jim had said.

He had been leaning back in his chair with his boots crossed at the ankle and a drink in one hand, radiating the confidence of a man planning a recreational pursuit entirely within his own comfort zone and expecting them to tag along.

“Sun on your back. Wind in your hair. Horse under you. Three hours without a bulkhead in sight.”

McCoy had regarded him over his glass.

“You’ve been reading the brochure.”

“It happens to be an excellent brochure.”

“You believe brochures?”

Jim had ignored that.

“You can ride, can’t you?”

There had been something in the question—nothing more than expectation, probably—that made an honest answer seem unnecessarily defeatist.

McCoy had taken a drink.

“Of course I can ride.”

Jim’s face had brightened. “Great.”

“Grew up around horses.”

That part wasn’t, technically, a lie. His uncle had owned a small farm.

“Used to ride all the time.”

That part was.

His total mounted experience consisted largely of one seaside holiday when he was nine, during which his mother had paid for him to travel perhaps two hundred yards along a public pier on the back of an elderly donkey.

The donkey had been elderly and professionally resigned, and led by a fourteen-year-old girl.

It had stopped twice.

His mother still had the framed photograph on her mantel.

At some point later that evening, when Jim had sent the booking form around, McCoy had been confronted with a list of riding categories ranging from NEVER RIDDEN to ADVANCED.

Pride had ruled out the first two.

He had selected INTERMEDIATE.

Now, standing in the stable yard beneath an alien sun, McCoy became aware that decisions made while drinking should carry an automatic twenty-four-hour review period.

Jim was still looking at him.

“Intermediate?”

McCoy straightened.

“Yes.”

Apollo chose that moment to rear, landing with a resounding thud and a flourish of tail, sending lumps of sod flying into the air in all directions.

McCoy reconsidered his life choices.

Jim saw his face. “You said you could ride.”

McCoy ignored him and turned his attention toward the paddock.

The staff member followed his gaze. “No problem. We’ve got several good horses that’ll suit you.”

“Excellent.”

Jim’s mouth twitched. McCoy looked back at him.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to ask what you used to ride.”

“Horses.”

“What kind?”

“The four-legged kind.”

Jim’s grin escaped.

McCoy turned away from him and surveyed the paddock with renewed seriousness.

His eye settled almost immediately on the grey.

The horse stood near the shade of a tree some distance from Apollo, large enough to look reassuringly substantial but without any apparent desire to demonstrate it. His coat had gone almost white around the face, and one hind leg rested loosely while he watched the black gelding with what McCoy chose to interpret as mature disapproval.

“That one.”

The staff member followed his pointing hand.

“Bart?”

“Bart.”

“Lord Bartholomew, officially.”

McCoy stared at him. Jim made a strangled sound beside him.

The attendant smiled. “Previous owner had ambitions.”

“Bart’s fine.”

“He’s one of our most experienced trail horses. Twenty years old, knows every route on the property, very steady. Doesn’t spook at much of anything.”

McCoy felt immediate affection.

“Good.”

“He can be a little opinionated.”

McCoy considered the grey. Bart looked back at him with a long, level stare.

“I respect that.”

“He’s not particularly interested in doing anything unnecessary.”

“Better and better.”

“And not too keen on Prince Charming over there. He and Apollo occasionally disagree about who ought to be in front.”

McCoy frowned.

Bartholomew lifted his head and fixed Apollo with a look that could only be described as long-standing irritation. Apollo, apparently sensing attention, arched his neck and pawed once at the ground. Bart watched him for a moment, then deliberately looked away.

McCoy felt oddly comforted. The grey had the expression of something that had survived youth and did not intend to be dragged back into it.

Older. Experienced. Knows the trails.

All the best qualities, McCoy thought. He nodded as though he’d just selected a favored diagnostic instrument.

“I understand this horse.”

Jim folded his arms against the fence. “You haven’t met him yet.”

“I don’t need to. We have compatible priorities.”

“Which are?”

“Getting back here alive.”

The staff member laughed. McCoy pointed decisively at the grey.

“I’ll take Bart.”

Bart continued standing beneath the tree, looking like an animal who had been the subject of many such declarations and saw no reason to become emotionally involved in this one.

Behind them, Spock had drifted farther along the fence line with the quiet absorption of a man examining an unfamiliar culture.

The horses interested him.

He had encountered larger animals on several worlds and species considerably less predictable, but Terran horses occupied an unusual position in human history: transport, agriculture, warfare, sport and companionship, often simultaneously. Their usefulness had depended for centuries upon communication between two species with very different instincts, anatomy and sensory priorities.

At close range, that communication appeared more elaborate than he had expected.

The horses’ ears moved almost continuously, angling towards sounds and one another. Heads lifted and lowered in response to movements elsewhere in the paddock. One animal displaced another from a patch of grass with little more than a shift of position; a second crossed several meters merely because the first had done so. Their skin appeared extraordinarily sensitive, shivering in small localized ripples whenever a fly landed or brushed across the coat, while the large, dark eyes seemed capable of altering expression with equally minute changes around the lids and brow. Even their odor was distinctive at close range: warm hide, hair, dust and something faintly sweet and organic beneath it. Tail movement, posture, distance and orientation all seemed to convey information.

Spock stopped beside the rail.

A tall chestnut mare some distance away lifted her head.

Unlike Apollo, she made no theatrical display of having noticed him. She simply stood with a mouthful of grass between her teeth and looked.

Spock looked back.

One ear angled towards him while the other remained turned towards the herd.

Interesting.

The mare chewed, swallowed, then took several unhurried steps in his direction. Spock stayed where he was.

She stopped again.

He noted the dark line along her back, the powerful shoulders beneath the chestnut coat and the small shift of her nostrils as she sampled the air between them. Her attention appeared direct without being apprehensive.

Spock lifted one eyebrow as the mare resumed walking.

Jim noticed from farther down the fence, where he had one boot braced on the lower rail beside McCoy. Bones was watching the horses while attempting to imitate Jim’s easy posture, with limited success; the stiffness through his shoulders giving away more discomfort than the casual lean concealed.

“You making a friend over there?”

“It would appear so.”

The mare reached the rail and stopped directly in front of Spock. For several seconds they regarded one another before she extended her head, warm breath brushing his sleeve. Spock glanced down at the large muzzle now hovering only centimetres from his arm.

“Hello.”

McCoy glanced over as the mare sniffed along Spock’s sleeve, while Jim watched with a widening grin. She worked her way upwards towards his shoulder and gave the fabric a slow, exploratory nudge.

Spock’s eyebrow rose another fraction.

Jim laughed. “She likes you.”

“That conclusion may be premature.”

The mare nudged him again, and Spock reconsidered. He lifted one hand slowly, giving her every opportunity to withdraw before his fingers settled against the side of her neck and moved cautiously over the short chestnut coat. Her skin twitched once beneath his touch, but she remained exactly where she was.

Spock raised one eyebrow. “It would appear that physical contact is acceptable.”

“Or perhaps she hasn’t met any other Vulcans before,” McCoy said.

Spock ignored him as the mare turned her head slightly and regarded him with one large brown eye. There was something almost disconcertingly deliberate about the inspection, and he found himself returning it until the stable attendant, having left McCoy to contemplate his alliance with Bartholomew, came over to join them.

“That’s Sadie.”

Spock continued stroking the mare’s neck. “She appears unusually receptive to unfamiliar individuals.”

“She likes people.”

Sadie pressed her muzzle against Spock’s shoulder again.

The attendant smiled. “Some people more than others.”

Jim came along the fence to join them, McCoy following at a less enthusiastic pace.

“What’s she like?”

“Very experienced. Fifteen years old. Knows the trails better than most of us.” The attendant rested an arm on the top rail. “Steady, sensible, not much bothers her.”

McCoy glanced back towards Apollo, who was once again moving around the paddock as though still auditioning for something.

“Do you have three like this one?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

The attendant looked at Spock. “Your booking says no previous riding experience.”

“That is correct.”

McCoy’s expression brightened immediately.

Spock noticed.

“I saw no advantage in misrepresenting the information.”

McCoy looked away as Jim coughed into one hand.

The attendant, mercifully, continued. “Sadie’s one of the horses we use for beginners. She won’t overreact if you make a mistake, and she’s good at following the others on the trail.”

“That would appear suitable.”

“She’ll look after you.”

Spock regarded the mare.

Sadie regarded Spock.

He had no prior experience with Terran horses, but thus far the interaction had proceeded without difficulty. She had approached voluntarily, accepted physical contact and remained attentive throughout. Whatever reservations McCoy harbored about the activity didn’t appear applicable here.

“We have established,” Spock determined, “what I believe to be a mutual appreciation.”

McCoy shut his eyes while Jim’s mouth twitched beside him. Sadie, apparently determined to support Spock’s conclusion, moved closer and nuzzled him again. He rested one hand against her neck.

“I foresee no difficulty in engaging her services.”

McCoy opened his eyes.

“Engaging her services?”

“That is essentially the proposed arrangement.”

“You’re renting a horse, Spock, not negotiating a treaty.”

Sadie breathed softly against Spock’s shoulder.

McCoy looked at Jim.

“Do something.”

Jim was enjoying himself far too much. “He seems to be doing fine.”

Sadie lowered her head briefly to investigate a clump of grass growing immediately beneath the fence.

The attendant’s smile had acquired the restrained quality of a man accustomed to customers reaching optimistic conclusions about horses.

“She can also be a little, er, self-directed.”

Spock looked towards him, one eyebrow rising in question.

“She knows the trails and the stable routine, and every decent patch of grass between here and the north boundary.”

Sadie tore up the clump at her feet.

“And if she decides she’d rather be doing one of those things than whatever you had in mind, you need to make the instruction clear.”

Spock considered this. “I am an excellent commander.”

McCoy huffed while Jim gave him a sideways glance.

The attendant continued. “She’s not difficult. You just can’t leave all the decisions to her.”

“I had not intended to.”

Sadie continued tearing at the grass, muzzle stretched forward as she kept her head close to the ground, ears pricked ahead.

Jim scratched the mare between the eyes. “She looks harmless enough.”

McCoy pointed towards Apollo without looking. “That’s what he said about the other one.”

“Apollo is harmless.”

A heavy thud sounded from farther down the paddock and everybody turned.

The attendant amended, “Relatively speaking.”

Jim grinned.

Sadie finished tearing at the grass and raised her head, regarding Spock for a moment before stepping closer until her shoulder nearly touched the fence opposite him. Spock took the renewed approach as further evidence in support of his conclusion.
Sadie, however, had assessed many riders before this one. He was unusual. He stood very still, never grabbing at her, making sudden noises or slapping her neck with the indiscriminate enthusiasm some people mistook for affection. When she approached, he waited; when she moved away, he let her. Everything about him suggested patience, caution and an exceptional willingness to pause while deciding what ought to happen next.

Sadie approved of pauses.

She also recognized uncertainty when she encountered it.

The man carried himself with complete confidence, but none of that confidence had anything to do with horses. He watched her ears as though they were instrumentation. He touched her as though awaiting results. His expression suggested he expected the animal to comply if he explained himself clearly.

Promising.

Very promising.

Sadie extended her nose to investigate Spock’s jacket for anything edible and, finding nothing, withdrew to the grass. Spock watched her lower her head and resume grazing.

“She appears highly observant.”

McCoy stared at the mare.

Then at Spock. Then at Jim.

“Jim… I don’t think she’s the one being evaluated.”

Jim laughed.

Spock continued to regard Sadie with calm assurance. “I have no doubt that we shall function effectively.”

Sadie lowered her head and began tearing at the grass along the fence line with casual entitlement. She agreed with him.

Across the paddock, Apollo struck the fence rail once, impatient to be out of it and discover whether this new rider warranted either cooperation or disdain.

The grey turned his back and shifted his weight, unimpressed.

The chestnut pretended disinterest and glided back into the field.
—
Apollo knew he’d be chosen.

He had known it from the moment the three men first leaned over the rail: upright figures in casual clothes, smelling of metal and distance, carrying with them the unmistakable air of creatures accustomed to giving directions and expecting the rest of the world to cooperate. One of them in particular—the fair one with the easy confidence and the loose, balanced way of standing—had watched Apollo not as a nervous novice watched a large animal, but as a rider watched a possibility.

Apollo had marked him at once.

He had then done what any self-respecting horse in possession of youth, power and an appreciative audience would do. He ran.

Not wildly. There was a difference between exuberance and waste. Apollo stretched into a long, elastic stride down the far side of the paddock, wheeled cleanly at the corner, hooves biting into turf, and came back with his neck arched and his tail lifted, every line of him announcing that he wasn’t built for plodding obedience and had no intention of pretending otherwise. He stopped near the fence with a short, emphatic snort, as though he had been interrupted halfway through a performance by people only just learning how fortunate they were. The wind caught his mane, the sun made his coat look like polished stone.

There were eyes on him.

Good.

The fair one had made a low sound of approval. Not foolish excitement. Not the shrill sort of admiration humans often directed at anything with speed and shine. This had sounded more like recognition.

Apollo considered that.

The man didn’t flap, crowd the fence, or reach through it in the irritating manner of people who assumed every horse longed to be touched by strangers. He stood easily, weight placed well, shoulders relaxed, attention fixed but unforced, like someone who would understand what motion was for.

Promising.

Apollo lowered his head a fraction, studying him in return. Here, perhaps, was a rider worth the trouble. Not one of the stiff-handed tourists who bounced, clutched and mistook fear for authority, but someone who might actually allow an afternoon to proceed as it ought: with pace, with style, and with Apollo himself in proper possession of the superior role.

If that proved true, then he would cooperate.

Within reason.

A short distance away, Lord Bartholomew watched the whole display from the shade of his own patience.

He had seen such performances before. Young horse. Good breeding. Too much energy. Too much certainty. The sort who believed every passing breeze existed purely to set off his mane to advantage. Apollo had spent the last five minutes behaving as though the paddock were a stage and the remainder of creation existed to admire him from below.

Bartholomew, who had long ago lost interest in theatrical self-presentation, shifted his weight and sighed with his entire body.

“Oh please” was not a sound a horse could make, but he had perfected several acceptable approximations.

His rider approached with the cautious confidence of someone who had recently made a declaration in a social setting and was now attempting to live up to it.

He carried the scent of medicine and irritability. His movements had caution in them, and his hands hovered over the rail like they expected to find a surgical tray.

Interesting.

Not much natural ease there. No real feel for horseflesh yet. But a healthy respect for consequences, which was more than could be said for many. Bartholomew approved of respect for consequences. It usually meant fewer unnecessary surprises.
The man had pointed at him with the firm, slightly defensive air of someone selecting the least alarming option in a room full of bad ideas.

Bartholomew had accepted this without visible reaction. One did not encourage humans to imagine they had exercised discernment beyond their means.

Across the paddock Apollo had begun moving along the fence again, tossing his head and striking the rail once with a front hoof because apparently stillness was intolerable when there were witnesses to impress.

Insufferable.

Bartholomew turned his back with a composure that conveyed generations of judgment.

If the physician proved as uncertain in the saddle as he looked from the ground—and Bartholomew strongly suspected he would—then somebody would need to ensure the outing remained within the bounds of dignity. There was no telling what Apollo might consider entertaining if left entirely to his own devices, and although Bartholomew had no desire to involve himself in other people’s melodrama, he had even less desire to spend an afternoon listening to it.

Very well, then.

He would supervise.

Not openly, of course. Openly was for younger horses and more emotional species. But he would keep an eye on matters. He would carry his rider safely if the man kept his wits, correct him where necessary, and, if required, make it abundantly clear to Apollo that there would be limits to any display of youthful vanity conducted in company.

This, too, Bartholomew regarded as public service.

Near the fence, the fair one still had his attention on Apollo. Good. Let him. He looked like the sort who might be worth carrying. The physician would do well enough under proper management. And the quiet one with the pointed ears—Bartholomew flicked an ear in that direction—had already been claimed by the chestnut mare, who seemed to find his stillness compelling for reasons of her own.

An odd group.

But not, perhaps, a hopeless one.

Apollo snorted again, glancing toward the fair man as if to remind everyone that the only sensible next step was to remove him from the paddock and see what happened at speed.

Bartholomew found that entirely believable.

The chestnut mare, having completed her own assessment, drifted away through the grass with every appearance of indifference.

The staff member gestured toward the tack room. “Come this way, folks, grab a coffee while you wait. We’ll saddle them up for you.”

Jim straightened from the rail, satisfaction written all over his face. “Perfect.”

McCoy took one last look at Apollo as the gelding wheeled away, all black muscle and restless energy.

It’ll be fun, Jim had said.

McCoy scowled.

“Four hundred kilos of opinion with teeth. You call that fun?”

Then he squared his shoulders and followed the others towards the tack room, wondering—not for the first time—how Jim kept talking him into things like this.

Behind them, Apollo lifted his head and watched them go with bright, proprietary interest. Bartholomew remained where he was, conserving both energy and opinion. Sadie tore up another mouthful of grass.
—
The tack room smelled of oiled leather, saddle soap and stored heat.

Young attendants came and went between the tack room and yard, lifting saddles from numbered racks and carrying bridles outside while the three men waited near the open doors. Outside, the three horses shifted restlessly on the packed earth, tails swishing at flies while Bartholomew had already edged into position beside Apollo, occasionally snapping at him without quite committing to a bite. Jim leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, watching them with the expression of a man about to receive a promised gift.

McCoy stood slightly apart, trying not to look as though he was mentally counting the number of bones in his body.

Spock, meanwhile, had become interested in the equipment.

He watched an attendant lift a saddle from its rack and turn it before carrying it outside.

“Is the saddle a standard equine interface?”

The man paused.
Jim looked down. McCoy stared at the ceiling.

The attendant recovered first. “More or less. Keeps you secure and distributes your weight so you’re not sitting directly on the horse’s spine.”

Spock stepped closer to inspect the underside. “The fit therefore varies according to the anatomy of the animal.”

“Exactly.”

“And the rider?”

“Stirrup length, mostly. Seat size. We’ll adjust everything before you go.”

Spock nodded. “I prefer to minimize variables.”

McCoy made a dry sound and caught the attendant’s eye. “You picked the wrong afternoon.”

A second attendant led Apollo across the yard already saddled, and Jim immediately straightened.

The black gelding looked no less impressive under tack. If anything, the saddle seemed merely to formalize his opinion of himself. He entered the enclosed mounting area at a brisk walk, neck arched and ears forward, then stopped only when the attendant asked him to.

Jim went out to meet him and Apollo turned his head at once.

McCoy noticed.

“He remembers you.”

“Of course he remembers me.”

“You’ve known each other fifteen minutes.”

Jim gave him one of those easy, self-assured smiles. “I’m a memorable person, Bones.”

Jim ran a hand along Apollo’s neck and checked the saddle himself almost automatically: girth, stirrup leather, bridle, the fit at the withers. The attendant watched without interfering.

Spock came to the rail.

“You are verifying their work?”

“I’m checking my own equipment.”

“The distinction is not immediately apparent.”

“It will be when you’re sitting on it.”

Jim adjusted one stirrup by a hole, gathered the reins and put his left foot into the iron. He mounted in one smooth movement, settling into the saddle with none of the cautious readjustment McCoy had been hoping to see.

Apollo took two steps forward before Jim had fully found the other stirrup. Jim sat back into the saddle and gave the reins the slightest squeeze.

“Stand.”

The gelding stopped.

Jim settled his boot, shortened the reins by a fraction and rubbed Apollo’s neck. McCoy felt a small, treacherous spike of envy.

Fine. Jim could look like he belonged on a horse. Jim belonged on everything he touched, irritatingly.

Apollo shifted beneath him, alert and ready, but Jim sat easily with the movement.

The attendant gave a brief nod.

“Comfortable?”

“Very.”

“I thought you might be.”

Bartholomew came out next.

The grey gelding stepped into the yard with none of Apollo’s ceremony. He stopped near the mounting block and stood with the patient solidity of something that had been through this procedure many hundreds of times and didn’t expect today to provide any novelty.

McCoy approached him cautiously.

“Hello, Bart.”

Bartholomew turned one eye towards him.

“We’re going to get along just fine.”

Bartholomew preferred to reserve judgement.

The attendant checked the stirrup length against McCoy’s leg and shortened it slightly.

“You want the block?”

McCoy looked at Jim. Jim was very carefully not looking back.

“No.”

The attendant shrugged. “All right.”

McCoy gathered the reins, placed his left foot in the stirrup and bounced once experimentally.

Nothing happened.

He bounced again, pushed off harder and managed to get enough height to swing his right leg over Bart’s back. He came down with rather more force than Jim had, caught himself and immediately rearranged his face into an expression of deliberate competence.

Bartholomew stood exactly where he had been while McCoy adjusted his seat.

“Well.”

Jim’s mouth twitched.

McCoy pointed at him. “Not one word.”

Bart turned his head far enough to look back at his rider. McCoy interpreted the look.

“Don’t you start.”

The grey faced forward again as the staff brought Sadie out last. She entered the yard as if doing them all a favor and stopped beside the mounting block while Spock approached with calm purpose. He studied the saddle, the stirrups and their arrangement for several seconds before moving to the mare’s right side.

Jim leaned slightly forward in Apollo’s saddle.

“Other side, Spock.”

Spock stopped and looked at Jim.

“Traditionally horses are mounted from the left.”

Spock crossed unhurriedly behind Sadie with such composed dignity that he gave no indication he had ever intended to mount from anywhere else.

McCoy brightened visibly.

Sadie remained still as Spock placed his left foot in the stirrup, took hold of the saddle and paused.

“How much force should be applied during mounting?”

Jim blinked. “Enough to get up there.”

“That is not a measurable quantity.”

“Spock.”

The attendant stepped closer, concealing a smile. “Push from your right leg, stand into the left stirrup and swing the other leg over. Don’t pull yourself up on the saddle.”

Spock nodded and made the attempt. He was halfway up before the unfamiliar shift of weight persuaded him to come down again, at which point Sadie calmly stepped forward.

Spock stopped.

“Remain stationary.”

Sadie flicked an ear.

The attendant took the near rein lightly and brought her back into position.

“Try again.”

Spock did, this time committing more decisively. He rose through the stirrup and swung his right leg over, settling into the saddle with considerably less elegance than Jim and considerably more control than McCoy had secretly hoped.
When Sadie shifted beneath him, Spock stiffened immediately.

“Relax your hips,” Jim called.

“My hips are relaxed.”

“No, they’re not.”

Spock considered the possibility.

McCoy sat tall in his own saddle wearing an expression of bored competence.

Bart knew better. The rider above him was scarcely putting any real weight through the saddle, his legs held tense enough that the slightest accidental contact touched the grey’s flanks, while the hands on the reins alternated between too much pressure and almost none within the space of seconds. Bartholomew knew exactly what kind of rider he was carrying.

The attendant adjusted Spock’s stirrups and showed him how to hold the reins without fixing his hands rigidly in one place.

Spock looked down at them.

“The contact should remain constant?”

“Light, not fixed. Think of it as communication. You don’t want to hang on her mouth.”

Spock loosened his fingers by a carefully judged degree. Sadie immediately lowered her head, drawing the reins through his hands before he realized what she was doing.

“Not that light,” Jim said.

Spock recovered them.

McCoy snorted.

Spock looked across at him. “Doctor, I anticipate no difficulty.”

Sadie flicked an ear backwards.

Jim brought Apollo into a walk around the yard.

“All right. Before anybody goes anywhere, you need the basics.”

McCoy waved one hand. “I know the basics.”

Bart took advantage of the reduced rein contact to move three deliberate steps towards a patch of shade. McCoy tried to gather him back, leaned too far behind the movement and immediately lost one stirrup, then compensated in the opposite direction and pitched forward, catching himself on the pommel.

Bart stopped.

Jim raised his eyebrows.

Apollo walked on beneath him, energetic but attentive.

Jim demonstrated with his own hands. “Don’t think of the reins as steering. Your seat and legs tell them as much as your hands do. Look where you want to go, turn your body slightly, put a little more pressure through the outside leg and guide with the rein. Don’t haul their heads around.”

Spock followed the explanation closely.

“To move forward?”

“Light pressure with both calves. Start small. If she ignores you, ask more clearly.”

Spock applied both calves with great care.

Sadie remained still.

He increased the pressure. One ear turned back and Sadie took a single step forward.

Spock looked faintly satisfied.

“Good,” Jim said. “Now keep asking.”

Sadie took another three steps before stopping again. Spock repeated the same pressure, and after a moment she resumed walking.

“The response is not immediate,” he observed.

“It will be when she believes you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

“That’s not necessarily the same thing.”

Spock looked down between Sadie’s ears while his hands struggled to maintain an even grip on both reins without drawing his body forward.

Sadie continued walking at precisely the speed she considered appropriate.

“To stop,” Jim continued, “sit deeper first. Close your fingers on the reins and ask them to come back to you. Don’t yank.”

He demonstrated and Apollo halted promptly, though the gelding did so with enough animation to suggest he considered stopping an administrative inconvenience.

Jim released the pressure immediately.

“Good boy.”

Apollo arched his neck.

Spock studied the sequence.

“What is the optimal degree of rein pressure?”

“There isn’t one. Depends on the horse, what he’s doing, how fast you’re moving, whether he’s listening to you.”

Spock frowned slightly.

“That introduces a considerable number of variables.”

Jim smiled. “They’re animals.”

McCoy shifted in the saddle. “I thought you liked variables.”

“Only when they can be quantified.”

Sadie drifted towards the rail.

Spock corrected her course, and this time she complied without hesitation.

His expression cleared.

“Apparently that is not a prerequisite.”

Jim laughed.

They spent another ten minutes in the enclosed yard. McCoy persuaded Bartholomew to walk, stop and turn with increasing confidence, helped considerably by the fact that Bart knew all three manoeuvres and had no objection to performing them provided nobody became unreasonable.

Spock progressed more methodically. Sadie responded to clear requests, ignored uncertain ones and once stopped altogether when he became distracted by a question about the design of the bit.

“Forward,” Spock said.

Sadie remained still.

He applied his legs.

Nothing.

“Sadie.”

Jim rode past them. “Don’t negotiate.”

“I am not negotiating.”

Sadie reached sideways towards a tuft of grass beyond the rail.

Jim looked at him.

Spock shortened the reins and applied his legs more firmly. Sadie gave a long sigh through her nostrils, lifted her head and moved on.

“See?”

Spock sat a little straighter. “The increased pressure produced the desired result.”

“Sure. It’s not rocket science.”

McCoy glanced at Jim. “Don’t encourage him.”

Before Jim could answer, the attendant opened the gate into the larger exercise arena.

“All right. You two can stay in here a few more minutes. Er, Jim, isn’t it? I want to see you ride Apollo properly before I clear the two of you for the trail.”

Jim nodded and guided Apollo through the gate.

Apollo entered the arena with considerable enthusiasm.

Jim had barely settled into the saddle before the gelding stepped out beneath him, neck arched, ears flicking between the open gate and the rider above. Jim shortened the reins by a fraction and brought him back without hauling at his mouth.

“Easy.”

Apollo gave one impatient toss of the head.

McCoy kept hold of Bart’s reins and turned to watch, with Spock seated beside him and Sadie munching contentedly on a patch of grass by the rail.

The attendant stood beside him, watching rather more closely than his relaxed posture suggested.

Out in the arena, Jim asked for a trot.

Apollo responded immediately and with enough extra energy to suggest he had been waiting all morning for somebody to make the request. He moved forward in a long, elastic stride, then tried to increase the pace after half a circuit.

Jim checked him with his seat before touching the reins.

Apollo came back.

Beside McCoy, Spock lifted an eyebrow

Jim changed direction, worked the gelding through another circle, then asked for canter. Apollo surged into it with obvious satisfaction, taking the first corner faster than necessary before Jim quietly collected him again, his balance never shifting, shoulders straight and heels aligned beneath his hips.

There was no visible struggle between them. Jim neither hauled him back nor allowed him to choose the pace. He simply adjusted, and Apollo adjusted with him.

McCoy’s expression changed despite himself.

“Well.”

Spock glanced towards him. “You appear surprised.”

“I knew he could ride.”

“Your earlier remarks suggested otherwise.”

“I knew theoretically.”

Jim brought Apollo down from canter to trot and then walk, the horse still carrying his head high but no longer looking for an excuse to accelerate. He rubbed the black neck once as they passed the rail.

“Happy?”

McCoy looked at the attendant. “I said let the horse decide.”

The attendant watched Apollo complete another circuit on a loose rein. The gelding’s ears remained angled back towards Jim, his stride still energetic but settled now into the work.

“He already has.”

Jim looked pleased.

Apollo looked even more pleased, though in his case this expressed itself mainly by attempting to lengthen his stride again the instant Jim turned him towards the far end of the arena.

Jim caught him before he gained more than a step.

“Nice try.”

The attendant laughed. “All right. You can handle him.”

McCoy sighed.

Beside him, Spock regarded horse and rider with increased confidence. The animal had presented excess energy; Kirk had applied the appropriate combination of balance, pressure and restraint; the animal had responded.

The principles appeared straightforward enough.
—
The attendant handed Jim a folded trail map before they left the yard and pointed to the marked route with one finger.

“Three-hour loop. Starts easy across open farmland, then you’ll pick up the forestry track for a while before it opens out again on the north side. Stay on the marked trail.”

Jim glanced over the map and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“There’s one other thing,” the attendant added. “We’ve got wild horses ranging through the upper country. You may see them in the distance.”

Spock looked towards him. “Are they likely to approach the trail?”

“Usually not. They keep to themselves. But don’t ride towards them, and if you come across a group close up, give them plenty of room.”

McCoy adjusted his reins. “Because?”

“Because your horses are still horses. A moving herd can get them excited, especially out in open country. They may want to follow, or run with them.”

McCoy looked immediately at Apollo.

The black gelding stood beneath Jim with one ear angled towards the stable entrance and the other towards the open gate.

“Wonderful.”

Jim glanced across at him. “Bones.”

“What? I’m listening to the safety briefing.”

The attendant looked at Jim. “If you do see them, keep your distance and don’t let these three make the decision for you.”

As if on cue, Bart shifted beneath McCoy and threw his head against the bit. Apollo snaked his neck sideways in warning. Jim deepened his seat almost imperceptibly while McCoy’s legs tightened and his hands closed on the reins, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Spock inclined his head. “The instruction is understood.”

Sadie had already begun stretching her neck towards a feed bucket beside the stable wall. Spock shortened the reins before she could reach it, and the mare stopped.

His expression settled into quiet satisfaction.

Then the attendant opened the outer gate.

Apollo moved first. Jim checked him lightly before the gelding could stride ahead of the others, then let him walk on once Bart and Sadie had come alongside. Bartholomew followed at his usual measured pace, while Sadie stepped through last, ears forward and apparently content now that the expedition was finally under way.

Jim turned in the saddle and looked back at the other two with an expectant grin.

“Ready?”

McCoy settled himself more securely. “As I’ll ever be.”

Spock adjusted his hands on the reins. “Yes.”

Jim’s smile widened as he shifted his weight slightly forward, and Apollo moved off beneath him.

“Okay. Follow me.”

Apollo stepped onto the trail as though it had been waiting for him and for the first half hour, the outing justified every claim Jim had made for it.

The track ran broad and level between open paddocks, the surface dry beneath the horses’ feet and edged with clover and long grass. White fencing followed the curves of the land before disappearing over low rises, while farther away scattered farm buildings sat beneath the wide blue sky. The breeze carried the scent of pasture, warm earth and water from somewhere beyond the fields.

Apollo walked out strongly at the front, but without argument. Jim let him use the long stride, sitting easily with the movement and occasionally checking him when enthusiasm carried him half a length too far ahead.

Bartholomew kept pace beside him when the trail widened enough, making no obvious effort to do so.

McCoy, meanwhile, was beginning to relax. Not completely; he still held the reins a little too firmly, and every unexpected shift beneath him tightened his legs in a way Bart could feel immediately. But the grey’s walk was so regular that McCoy had begun to find the rhythm of it despite himself.

He glanced across at Jim.

“This isn’t terrible.”

Jim turned towards him.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just want it noted.” Jim’s grin widened. “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“I said it wasn’t terrible.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not remotely the same thing.”

Behind them, Spock and Sadie had settled into their own arrangement.

Sadie walked wherever the other two horses walked, provided the direction didn’t require unnecessary deviation from the most convenient line. Spock had become considerably more comfortable in the saddle now that her movement had settled into a regular walk. His posture remained too upright and his hands required periodic correction, but the initial stiffness through his hips had eased.

He had also discovered that Sadie’s ears remained highly informative.

“The left ear appears to be monitoring us,” he observed.

Jim glanced back.

Sadie’s left ear was indeed turned towards Spock while the right remained forward.

“She’s listening to you.”

“She has done so for approximately eleven minutes.”

McCoy looked over his shoulder. “Maybe she’s waiting for you to say something useful.”

Sadie flicked the ear and Jim laughed.

The trail rose gently over a low ridge, opening the view across miles of farmland beyond. Apollo lifted his head as the breeze strengthened and drew in a long breath through widened nostrils.

Jim did the same.

“Now this is what I meant.”

McCoy followed his gaze toward the sunlight that rolled over the grass in long bands as the breeze moved through the fields. There were no bulkheads, no machinery, no recycled air, no decks vibrating faintly beneath their feet. Only sky, pasture, horses and the distant line of trees marking the beginning of the forest.

McCoy had to admit it was pleasant. But he wouldn’t tell Jim that.

Apollo’s walk lengthened, Jim brought him back almost without looking.

“That’s enough.”

The gelding yielded and continued forward, ears still fixed towards the country ahead.

McCoy watched the exchange.

“You two have become disgustingly pleased with each other.”

Jim rubbed Apollo’s neck. “He’s a good horse.”

Apollo immediately stretched his stride again.

Jim checked him.

“A good horse with ambitions.”

Bart turned one ear towards Apollo. The grey had tolerated the younger horse reasonably well while they traveled side by side, but as the trail began to narrow beyond the next rise, he gradually shifted closer.

McCoy felt the change before he understood it. Bart’s stride lengthened beneath him, carrying him steadily towards Apollo’s hindquarters. McCoy rocked forward with the movement, upsetting his own balance and putting an uncertain pressure on the reins.

“Easy.”

Jim glanced sideways. “Give him a little more room.”

“I’m trying.”

McCoy shortened the reins. Bart raised his head against the contact, and McCoy immediately loosened them again.

The grey continued forward.

“Bones, use your seat.”

“I am sitting on him.”

“That isn’t quite what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

Bart drew another half step closer. Apollo flicked his tail, the end catching the grey lightly across the nose.

Bart’s ears went back.

McCoy saw them. “Oh, don’t.”

Apollo flicked his tail again.

Bartholomew reached forward and snapped at it, his teeth closing on empty air. Apollo’s hindquarters tightened beneath Jim, who felt the response instantly and sent him forward before the gelding could answer.

“No.”

Apollo flattened one ear and moved on, but Bart merely increased his pace.

“This is unnecessary,” McCoy informed the landscape.

Jim looked back over one shoulder. “Keep him off Apollo’s tail.”

“I would be delighted, but I don’t have a lot of say in the matter.” McCoy’s brows drew together and his shoulders tightened as he tried a firmer rein.

Bart slowed for all of three strides before resuming the same purposeful advance.

McCoy stared down at the grey neck in front of him. “You and I had an understanding.”

Bart’s ears flicked back briefly.

The open farmland had begun to give way to rougher ground now, scrub thickening along the fence lines and stands of evergreen trees gathering ahead. The track narrowed gradually until the three horses could no longer travel abreast.

Apollo took the lead without discussion, Bartholomew following close behind while Sadie brought up the rear, pausing whenever something along the trail edge caught her interest. She reached for leaves as they passed and repeatedly dropped her head to tear at clumps of grass, taking advantage of the loose contact in Spock’s hands without bothering to negotiate the matter with him.

The temperature changed as soon as they passed beneath the first trees. Sunlight broke into dancing fragments across the track, and the warm smell of grass gave way to resin, damp earth and layers of old needles underfoot. The horses’ hoofbeats softened on the packed forest floor.

Jim looked back.

“See? Nice and easy.”

McCoy adjusted his seat.

“Define easy.”

Apollo lengthened his stride as soon as the trail confined them to single file. Jim felt the change beneath him and settled deeper into the saddle.

“Easy.”

The gelding came back by a fraction, but behind him Bart was already closing the distance. McCoy frowned as Apollo’s tail flicked again and the grey lifted his head.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Whether he was addressing Bart or Apollo was unclear.

Bart edged another half meter closer. Apollo’s ears flattened.

Jim turned slightly in the saddle. “Bones, give him some space.”

“I’m attempting to.”

“Use your legs and sit back.”

McCoy sat back too far. Bart shortened his stride abruptly beneath him, pitching McCoy forward before he recovered with an indignant grab at the pommel.

Jim faced front again very quickly.

McCoy saw his shoulders move. “You laugh and I’ll make your next physical interesting.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Apollo gave a small warning kick backwards, nowhere near enough to connect but entirely sufficient to state his opinion. Bart snapped towards his tail in reply, and McCoy’s hands tightened instinctively on the reins.

“Stop that!”

Bartholomew continued walking with the expressionless composure of an animal denying all involvement while Jim put another few meters between them. For a while, the problem subsided.

The forest grew denser around the trail, trees pressing closer on either side as the light above broke into narrow shafts between the branches. Ferns and low shrubs thickened beneath the trunks, and along the path edges the grass grew longer where the shade held more moisture.

Sadie noticed.

Her ears came forward.

Spock didn't.

He was concentrating on the mare’s movement beneath him, trying to isolate the relationship between his own balance and the direction of her stride. The walk had become considerably easier once he stopped holding himself rigid and allowed his hips to follow the motion.

This was encouraging.

He adjusted his hands, and Sadie continued forward.

A thick patch of bright grass appeared beside the trail. Sadie slowed. Spock felt the change and applied his calves as Jim had instructed.

She lengthened her stride again. His eyebrow rose slightly.

The system was becoming comprehensible.

Twenty meters farther on, another patch appeared.

Sadie stopped.

The abrupt loss of motion tipped Spock slightly forward before he corrected himself and applied both calves.

Nothing happened.

He increased the pressure.

Sadie lowered her head.

The reins slid sharply through his fingers, and Spock caught them just before losing the contact entirely.

“Forward.”

Sadie tore up a mouthful of grass while Spock applied his legs again. The mare continued chewing.

“Move on.”

One ear turned back towards him. Nothing else changed.

Spock looked along the trail. Apollo and Bartholomew were already disappearing around a bend between the trees. He shortened the reins and applied his calves more firmly. Sadie finally raised her head, and for an instant Spock felt vindicated.

She took two steps before angling sideways towards another clump of grass.

Spock corrected with the rein and Sadie stopped halfway between the trail and her intended destination.

He considered the problem.

“Forward.”

She remained still.

Spock increased the pressure through both legs. Sadie shifted her weight, released a long sigh through her nostrils and took one reluctant step before stopping again.

The hoofbeats ahead were fading now. Spock looked between her ears towards the empty trail.

“Sadie.”

One ear turned back.

“You are required to continue.”

Sadie knew perfectly well what was expected of her and what her rider was trying to communicate. She lowered her head and resumed grazing.

Jim reached the fork in the trail several minutes later, where the narrow path opened into a small clearing and crossed a broader logging road. He brought Apollo to a halt and turned in the saddle.

No one followed.

At first he waited without concern. Bart’s slower pace and McCoy’s uncertain handling had already opened gaps between them several times, and Sadie had never shown any inclination to hurry simply because the horses ahead had done so.

Apollo shifted beneath him and tried to walk on.

“Stand.”

The gelding stopped, though his attention remained fixed on the open road ahead. Jim looked back into the trees, and when nothing appeared, his expression changed.

“Bones?”

The only answer was the faint movement of branches in the breeze.

He gathered the reins to turn Apollo just as hoofbeats sounded from the trail. A moment later Bartholomew appeared around the bend, carrying McCoy into the clearing at the same steady walk he had maintained for most of the ride.

Jim’s eyes went immediately past him.

“Where’s Spock?”

McCoy looked over one shoulder as though the Vulcan might materialize through the trees if sufficiently encouraged.

“He was behind me.”

“He isn’t now.”

“I can see that.”

“When did you last see him?”

McCoy frowned, reconstructing the previous several minutes. “Before that last bend. Maybe farther back.”

Jim stared at him.

“What?”

“You lost Spock.”

“I didn’t lose Spock. Spock is an adult Vulcan riding a horse approximately the size of a shuttlecraft. I assumed he was capable of remaining visible.”

Jim was already turning Apollo.

McCoy sighed. “Of course we have to go back for him.”

The narrow trail they had just followed curved back through the trees, but the logging road crossed it at an angle and ran in roughly the same direction with considerably more room. Jim studied it for a moment.

“This should take us back alongside the trail. We’ll cover the ground faster.”

McCoy looked down the broad strip of compacted gravel.

“Faster?”

Jim glanced at him. “Not that much faster.”

Apollo had already understood that they were changing direction. The gelding turned beneath Jim with immediate enthusiasm, ears pricked towards the open road stretching away between the trees.

Jim settled him with a small check. “Easy.”

Apollo walked.

For perhaps six strides.

Then Jim asked for a trot, and the response was instantaneous. The gelding stepped forward with a spring, lengthening smoothly over the firmer ground while Jim rose easily with the rhythm.

Behind them, Bart saw the black horse moving away and lifted his head. McCoy felt the change beneath him.

“No.”

Bartholomew increased his pace.

“I said no.”

The grey broke into a trot. McCoy bounced once, recovered, then lost the rhythm on the next stride and tightened both legs instinctively around Bart’s sides in an effort to remain attached.

Bart interpreted the pressure as encouragement and accelerated.

“Jim!”

Jim looked back. Bartholomew was closing rapidly, McCoy sitting too high in the saddle and trying to manage the trot through determination alone.

“Sit into it, Bones. Don’t clamp with your legs.”

“I’m not clamping!”

Bart lengthened another stride.

McCoy tightened the reins. The grey raised his head against the contact but showed no inclination to abandon the pursuit.

Ahead, Apollo heard the approaching hoofbeats. One ear flicked back, then the other, and Jim felt the gelding gather beneath him.

“No.”

Apollo lengthened anyway.

Jim settled deeper and contained the movement before the trot could break into a canter, but Bart was still gaining. Apollo glanced sideways as the grey drew almost level with his quarters.

That was apparently unacceptable and the black gelding surged forward. Jim went with the acceleration, then quietly brought him back within three strides, but the damage had been done.

Bartholomew had seen enough. The older horse increased his own pace with sudden purpose and McCoy’s stomach dropped with the movement.

“Oh, no.”

Bart broke into a canter, the change throwing McCoy backwards, then pitching him forward again with the next stride. One foot nearly came out of the stirrup; he jammed it back into place and grabbed the front of the saddle with both hands.

“Jim!”

“I’ve got him.”

“You’ve got yours!”

“That’s the general idea!”

The logging road stretched straight ahead between tall trees, broad enough for the two horses to run nearly abreast. Apollo cantered easily beneath Jim, contained but plainly delighted to have finally been given some ground to cover. Bart came after him with a shorter, heavier stride, less elegant but no less determined.

McCoy clung to the saddle. Wind pushed his hair back from his forehead. The trees on either side had begun passing at a speed he considered completely inconsistent with recreation.

“Slow down!”

“I am slowing down!”

Apollo was, in fact, under control. Jim had brought him back from the first surge and was now holding him in a collected canter, allowing the gelding enough forward movement to prevent a fight without letting him run.

Bart had other ideas.

The moment Apollo shortened his stride, the grey closed the distance. McCoy felt the powerful movement beneath him and decided that whatever fit of vanity had possessed him to select INTERMEDIATE on the booking form had been a grave mistake.

“Bart!”

One grey ear turned back.

McCoy sat back as Jim had told him and closed his fingers on the reins. Bart slowed, and for one glorious second McCoy felt relief.

Then Apollo moved half a length ahead again.

Bart surged after him.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Jim laughed and McCoy heard him.

“You make one sound and I’ll change your menu card. Permanently!”

The road curved gently through the trees.

Jim saw the clearing ahead first.

“There!”

Sadie stood beneath the shade at the edge of the trail, head down in a luxuriant patch of grass.

Spock was still mounted. He had acquired the expression of a man engaged in a technical problem that had begun to offend him personally.

“I would appreciate,” he was saying, “if you would now resume forward movement.”

Sadie tore another clump of grass free as Spock applied his legs, entirely without effect.

“Your continued refusal is not rational.”

One ear flicked back towards him just as Apollo and Jim came through the last screen of trees into the clearing.

Spock looked up with the expression of a man who had concluded that logic was the solution, only to find the other party entirely unwilling to enter the debate.

Jim sat deeper, closed his fingers on the reins and brought Apollo smoothly down from canter through trot to a brisk walk before turning him across the clearing. The gelding tossed his head once in protest, but stopped beside Sadie when Jim asked.

“Well,” Jim said, looking from the mare to Spock. “I see negotiations are going well.”

Spock straightened. “She has elected to interrupt our progress.”

Sadie continued grazing.

“I gathered.”

Behind them, the rapid thud of Bartholomew’s hooves drew Jim’s head around.

“Bones—sit back.”

McCoy was already trying.

Bart came into the clearing at a canter, saw Apollo standing ahead and gathered himself to stop.

McCoy noticed the change in the grey’s neck a fraction too late.

Bartholomew dropped onto his hindquarters and halted squarely.

McCoy didn't.

His momentum carried him forward as the horse vanished from beneath him. One stirrup came free; he grabbed instinctively for the saddle, missed, and for one appalling instant found himself sliding along Bart’s neck with nothing solid left underneath him.

He had just enough time to think, this is not—

Then he went over the grey’s shoulder.

McCoy landed hard in a patch of long grass beside Sadie, arms and legs sprawled in thoroughly undignified fashion. He rolled once, came to rest on his side and lay there staring at the trees.

Sadie raised her head and continued chewing.

Spock looked down at McCoy.

“A most efficient dismount.”

McCoy turned his head very slowly.

“Don’t.”

Jim was already out of Apollo’s saddle. Concern brought him across the clearing quickly, though the effort required not to laugh was visible in every line of his face.

“You all right Bones?”

McCoy pushed himself upright and began checking his own limbs with affronted precision. He flexed both wrists, moved one shoulder and cautiously shifted his hips.

Jim held out a hand.

McCoy took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

“Next time,” he snapped, brushing grass from his trousers, “you want company on one of your excursions, take Chekov.”

Jim lost the battle and laughed.

McCoy glared at him.

Behind them, Bartholomew stood exactly where he had stopped, breathing a little harder but otherwise composed. He turned his head towards McCoy with the calm expression of an animal who regarded the entire incident as a straightforward failure of rider retention.

McCoy pointed at him.

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Bart blinked.

Nearby, Apollo arched his neck, still visibly invigorated by the run, while Sadie lowered her head again.

Spock remained in the saddle.

Jim looked up at him. “How long have you been here?”

“Approximately twelve minutes.”

“Twelve?”

“I have attempted every method you described.”

“And?”

Spock glanced down at Sadie. “I believe she understands the instructions, but lacks sufficient discipline to subordinate her own priorities.”

Sadie tore another mouthful of grass.

Jim’s mouth twitched. “I think that may be the problem.”

McCoy, still picking fragments of vegetation from his shirt and trousers, looked at the mare.

“She knows what’s good for her.” He scowled at Jim again. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Spock gave him a level look. “That is not helpful, Doctor.”

“Damn right it’s not. But it’s smart.”

With the attendant’s earlier warning in mind, Jim stepped closer and took Sadie’s rein near the bit.

“Come on.”

He gave her a firm forward cue as Spock applied his legs. Sadie lifted her head, considered the combined insistence, then finally stepped away from the grass.

Spock immediately gathered the reins.

“I had nearly achieved the same result.”

Yeah, well, we don’t have all afternoon if we want to make it back before dark.”

McCoy limped towards Bart.

Jim glanced at him. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m getting back on before good sense catches up with me.”

Bart waited beside him while McCoy regarded first the saddle, then the horse.

“We’re going to discuss stopping distances.”

Bartholomew shifted his weight.

McCoy narrowed his eyes. With considerably less pride than he had shown at the stable, he made use of a conveniently placed fallen tree stump and climbed back into the saddle.

A few minutes later all three were mounted again. Jim took the lead, Bart followed, and Sadie brought up the rear, leaving the grass only after one final backward glance that suggested the matter was far from settled.

For the next twenty minutes Jim kept the pace deliberately easy, and McCoy didn’t object. He sat more carefully now, one hand occasionally leaving the reins to rub at his hip when he thought no one was looking, while Bartholomew had returned to his former steady walk and seemed entirely unconcerned by the fact that he had recently deposited his rider in the undergrowth.

Spock, meanwhile, had revised his approach to Sadie. He kept the reins shorter and watched the mare’s ears almost as closely as the trail ahead. Twice she attempted to drift towards vegetation at the edge of the path, and both times he caught the movement early enough to correct her before she could lower her head.

On the second occasion Sadie continued forward without argument, and Spock straightened slightly in the saddle.

McCoy noticed.

“Don’t get smug.”

“I am not smug.”

“You’re sitting smug.”

Spock looked towards him. “I was unaware that smugness possessed a characteristic posture.”

“It does on you.”

Jim smiled without turning around.

The trail began to descend through the trees, following the slope towards the sound of running water. A few minutes later they emerged beside a shallow stream perhaps five meters across, its clear water moving quickly over smooth stones before disappearing again beneath the trees.

Jim stopped Apollo at the bank. The gelding lowered his head towards the water, sniffed once, then stepped down without hesitation. His front hooves splashed through the shallows and he picked his way across, testing the uneven stones before climbing the opposite bank.

Bart followed immediately.

McCoy looked down as water swirled around the grey’s fetlocks. Bart placed one hoof on a submerged stone, slipped half an inch and recovered.

McCoy placed one hand on the pommel and gripped the saddle more tightly with his knees, ignoring every one of Jim’s earlier instructions.

Jim glanced back from the far side. “Let him find his footing.”

“I was perfectly happy letting him find his footing before he tried finding it at thirty kilometers an hour.”

Bart climbed the bank and stopped beside Apollo as Sadie reached the water behind him and came to a halt.

Spock looked down at the stream, then at the mare’s ears.

“Proceed.”

Sadie lowered her nose towards the surface, sniffed the water and began to drink.

McCoy folded his arms as much as the reins allowed. “Here we go.”

Spock ignored him.

After several long swallows, Sadie finally raised her head. Spock applied his legs at once, but the mare remained where she was. He repeated the cue more firmly, adding a slight forward motion with the reins.

This time Sadie stepped into the stream.

Spock’s eyebrow rose.

She crossed without further objection, picking her way through the water and climbing the opposite bank with such deliberate care that he had no need to intervene. Once they drew level with the others, Spock looked towards Jim.

“The increased contact appears to have resolved the earlier ambiguity.”

Jim looked at Sadie just as the mare stretched towards a fern. Spock checked her before she could reach it.

“Apparently,” Jim said.

Beyond the stream the country began to change. The trees thinned gradually until the trail emerged from the forest altogether, opening onto a broad slope of tawny grass broken by low scrub and scattered stands of darker timber. The land rolled away in long folds towards distant hills, the late-afternoon light flattening their farther edges into blue-grey layers.

Apollo lifted his head.

Jim felt the change before he saw anything. The gelding’s stride shortened, not from reluctance but sudden attention, his neck rising beneath the reins as both ears came sharply forward.

A moment later Bart noticed. Then Sadie.

Within seconds all three horses were moving differently.

McCoy looked from one to the other. “What?”

Jim had already brought Apollo to a halt.

“Hold up.”

Spock drew Sadie alongside while Bart stopped behind them, and Jim scanned the open ground ahead.

At first there was nothing except grass moving under the wind. Then something shifted near the base of the opposite slope.

A horse stepped out from behind a stand of scrub.

Another followed.

Then three more.

McCoy stared. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

The herd was several hundred meters away, scattered loosely across the slope. Some grazed while others stood with their heads raised, dark shapes and pale ones mixed together against the grass.

Spock studied them.

“The feral population mentioned by the attendant.”

“Wild horses,” McCoy said.

“The distinction is largely semantic.”

“They look wild to me.”

Apollo had gone very still beneath him—not relaxed, but completely focused, every line of the gelding directed towards the distant herd.

Jim shortened the reins slightly.

“Apollo.”

One ear moved back towards him while the other remained fixed ahead. Bart raised his head higher, and even Sadie abandoned the grass.

That concerned Jim more than anything else.

He looked across at Spock and McCoy.

“Don’t let them move up.”

McCoy frowned. “We’re not moving.”

“The horses are thinking about it.”

Bart shifted beneath McCoy, who immediately gathered the reins.

Jim kept his voice level. “Turn them slightly away. Don’t pull hard. Just keep their attention here.”

Spock began angling Sadie across the trail, and for once she obeyed immediately, although her head remained high.

Across the slope, one of the wild horses broke into a trot. Apollo tightened beneath Jim, the tension running through the gelding’s whole body and up through the saddle.

“Easy.”

The distant horse accelerated, followed by two others. Then, with no warning Jim could identify, half the herd surged into motion and the slope erupted.

Horses that had been scattered moments before drew together, bodies streaming across the grass as one animal after another broke into a run. Dust lifted behind them, the sound reaching the three riders a second later: a low, rolling thunder of hooves carrying across the open ground.

Apollo surged against the reins, and Jim sat deep to contain him.

“No.”

The gelding came back, but only fractionally.

Bart began dancing beneath McCoy.

“Jim—”

“Hold him.”

“I am holding him.”

Sadie sidestepped sharply, nearly taking Spock off the trail before he corrected her.

The wild herd swept across the lower slope.

Apollo lifted his head and gave a high, sharp call. Several heads turned in the distance and one horse answered.

Apollo launched.

For a fraction of a second Jim was behind the movement. The acceleration came so suddenly that the saddle shot forward beneath him, his shoulders driven back and the reins tugging hard through his fingers before instinct caught up. His stomach lurched at the unexpected loss of balance.

Then he went with it.

His weight came forward, heels dropping as he found the gelding’s motion and gathered the reins without fighting the stride.

“Apollo!”

The horse was already galloping, and behind him Bart exploded into pursuit. McCoy swore as the grey’s first leap nearly tore the reins from his hands, driving him hard into the saddle and knocking one foot free of the stirrup before he grabbed at the pommel. Bartholomew stretched out beneath him, forelegs reaching and powerful hindquarters driving him forward as he unleashed his full strength in a determined effort to catch the gelding ahead.

“Jim!”

Sadie hesitated for perhaps one second longer. Then the other two horses were running away from her.

She bolted.

Spock was thrown backwards by the first stride, recovered with both hands tight on the reins and barely managed to keep his seat as Sadie accelerated beneath him.

The three horses tore across the open ground.

Jim tried to bring Apollo back, closing his fingers and sitting deeper as he asked for a reduction rather than a stop. The gelding’s neck hardened against the contact.

Jim tried again. Apollo shortened for a single stride, but then the wild herd changed direction across the slope and he surged after them with renewed force.

Jim abandoned the attempt to stop him outright.

At this speed, on uneven country, hauling on the reins would achieve little beyond destroying the horse’s balance and possibly his own. He shortened enough to keep contact and concentrated instead on steering, looking ahead for holes, rocks, anything that could bring four legs down at a gallop.

The wind tore at his shirt as the grass blurred beneath Apollo’s hooves.

Behind him, McCoy shouted something he couldn’t make out.

Bart was still following.

That was good.

Probably.

Jim risked a glance back.

McCoy was folded over the grey’s neck, one hand clamped around the pommel and the other gripping both reins, his expression that of a man hanging on for dear life.

Farther behind, Sadie was galloping with an enthusiasm entirely absent from every previous stage of the ride.

Spock was still aboard.

Also good.

Jim faced forward again as Apollo veered towards the moving herd. He checked the left rein and put his leg against the gelding’s side.

“Not that way.”

Apollo resisted.

Jim insisted.

For several strides the question remained genuinely undecided.

Then Apollo yielded just enough to angle away from the herd instead of following it directly, and Jim felt a surge of relief. It lasted perhaps three seconds.

Bart followed Apollo’s change of direction automatically, with Sadie still behind him, while the wild herd continued across the slope and began to pull farther away.

As the distance opened, some of the frantic edge went out of Apollo’s stride.

Jim felt it immediately.

“Easy. Come on.”

He sat deeper again. Apollo held the gallop for several more strides before Jim asked once more, and this time the gelding dropped into a canter. Behind him, Bart was still running flat out when Jim looked back.

“Bones! Sit up!”

McCoy lifted his head.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Bring him back!”

“I would be delighted!”

Bartholomew saw Apollo slowing and finally began to shorten.

McCoy sat back too abruptly and the grey broke from gallop to a rough canter that bounced McCoy violently in the saddle.

“Not that much!”

“I hate you!”

Jim turned forward again as Apollo dropped into a trot. Several seconds later Bart followed, and Sadie came down last, blowing hard through her nostrils while Spock finally managed to collect her. For a while the only sounds were the horses’ heavy breathing, the creak of tack and the diminishing thunder of the wild herd somewhere beyond the hills as Jim brought Apollo down to a walk, then stopped him. The gelding stood with his head high and sides heaving, still alive with excitement, and Jim leaned forward to rub his neck.

“Yeah. I know.”

Apollo tossed his head.

“That wasn’t permission.”

Bart came up behind them at a walk.

McCoy was still aboard.

Barely.

His hair stood in several directions, and one trouser leg had ridden halfway up his calf.

He stared at Jim.

Jim gave him a quick once-over. “You okay?”

McCoy opened his mouth, closed it again, then looked down at Bartholomew.

“I'm going to kill this horse.”

Bart blew out through his nostrils.

Spock and Sadie arrived a few moments later. Spock’s posture remained remarkably upright considering the circumstances, although his hair had shifted enough to betray that events had exceeded his preferred degree of order.

As Sadie came to a halt, Spock settled more fully into the saddle and eased his tight grip on the reins.

Jim looked at him.

“You all right?”

“Yes.”

Sadie dropped her head towards the grass, Spock pulled it back up immediately.

The mare sighed as McCoy stared at her. “She doesn’t stop.”

“Her priorities remain consistent,” Spock said.

Jim looked around.

The wild herd was gone. So was the trail.

He turned Apollo slowly in a circle. During the run they had crossed at least two broad folds of ground and ended in a shallow valley bordered by scrub and low trees. None of it looked familiar.

McCoy followed his gaze. “Jim. Where’s the path?”

Jim looked back the way they had come.

There was grass. A lot of grass.

Spock surveyed the surrounding terrain.

“The original trail is no longer visible.”

McCoy stared at him.

“Thank you, Spock.”

Jim reached inside his jacket for the folded map.

Apollo chose that moment to take one enthusiastic step forward.

Jim checked him immediately.

“Enough.”

He opened the map and all three men looked at it.

Then at the surrounding hills.

Then back at the map.

McCoy’s expression darkened.

“Tell me you know where we are.”

Jim studied the paper for another few seconds.

“I will, if you’ll just give me a minute.”

McCoy closed his eyes as Sadie reached for the grass again and Jim unfolded the map across Apollo’s neck to study it.

The trail system had looked straightforward enough when the attendant pointed it out at the stable: a looping network of marked tracks running through the forest and upper grazing country, with the stream crossing roughly halfway around the northern route. On paper, the lines were clean and obliging.

The surrounding landscape wasn’t.

Jim looked from the map to the low hills ahead, then over his shoulder towards the country they had just crossed.

Spock brought Sadie alongside.

“We crossed the stream approximately twenty-five minutes before encountering the herd.”

“I know.”

“The initial gallop was predominantly westward.”

Jim glanced at him. “Predominantly?”

“There were several changes of direction.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

McCoy rode up on the other side, one hand pressed against his lower back.

“Are we lost?”

Jim continued studying the map.

McCoy waited.

“Jim.”

“We’re temporarily off the trail.”

“That’s a very oblique way of saying we’re lost.”

“We know where the stable is.”

“Excellent. Point at it.”

Jim looked around.

McCoy’s expression hardened.

Spock leaned slightly towards the map. “The stream runs northeast to southwest through this section. If we determine which branch of the valley we entered after leaving the herd—”

“We didn’t enter a valley,” McCoy said. “We were kidnapped by livestock at speed.”

Spock ignored him. “—we should be able to intersect one of the marked tracks by maintaining an easterly heading.”

Jim studied the sun, then the map again.

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

McCoy looked between them. “Wonderful. Two votes.”

“There are only three of us, Bones.”

“Four hundred kilos underneath me would like representation.”

Bartholomew shifted one hind leg and lowered his head.

McCoy looked down at him.

“Don’t get comfortable.”

Jim folded the map once, leaving the relevant section visible.

“The main trail should be somewhere beyond that rise.”

He pointed towards a low ridge ahead.

Spock followed the line of his arm. “Agreed.”

McCoy sighed. “Of course you do.”

They set off at a walk. Apollo went willingly enough, although his head remained higher than before and his ears kept turning towards the distant country where the wild herd had disappeared. Jim maintained a light, steady contact, ready for another surge that never came.

Bartholomew followed with his former measured composure, apparently satisfied that the afternoon had already contained sufficient exertion.

Sadie didn't follow at all.

After three strides she angled left. Spock corrected her, and the mare returned to the direction Jim had chosen.

A few meters later she tried again.

Spock tightened the right rein and applied his leg. Sadie straightened.

McCoy noticed.

“She disagreeing with the navigation?”

“She is attempting to select her own route.”

“Maybe she knows something.”

“She previously selected grass.”

Spock looked at him.

McCoy rubbed his hip. “I’m developing respect for her judgement.”

They climbed the next rise and at the top, Jim stopped.

The country beyond looked almost exactly like the ground they had just crossed: another shallow slope scattered with scrub, rising again towards a line of trees. No trail cut through it, and there was no fence line, marker post or worn strip of ground to suggest that anyone routinely passed that way.

Jim unfolded the map again and McCoy closed his eyes briefly while Spock studied the terrain.

“The trail may lie beyond the next ridge.”

McCoy opened his eyes. “You said that about this ridge.”

Jim ignored him and looked down the slope.

“We may have drifted farther south than I thought.”

McCoy stared at him.

“How far is ‘farther’?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Jim refolded the map and urged Apollo forward.

They descended into the next fold of ground, where the footing grew rougher near the bottom and forced the horses to pick their way around exposed stones and clumps of thorny scrub. Apollo slowed without being asked, placing each hoof carefully before committing his weight, and Jim let him choose the safest line.

Bart did the same.

Sadie angled left again and Spock stopped her, “Continue forward.”

The mare hesitated, then reluctantly straightened and moved on.

Ten minutes later she tried again, and this time McCoy caught it immediately.

“There.”

Spock corrected her.

“There what?”

“She wants to go that way.”

“She has wanted to go several ways today.”

“No. She’s wanted to go towards food. That’s different.”

Sadie turned her head slightly left. Spock guided her back.

“She has no knowledge of our intended route.”

McCoy looked at the mare. “She has more knowledge of this country than we do.”

Jim glanced back.

Spock’s expression remained composed. “That does not establish that her preferred direction is advantageous.”

“No, but so far neither has your interpretation of the map.”

Jim’s mouth twitched and Spock caught it.

“You agree with Doctor McCoy?”

Jim turned Apollo towards another low rise.

“Let’s give it a little longer.”

Sadie followed, though not without one backward glance towards the direction Spock had prevented her from taking.

The next rise was steeper, and by the time they reached the top McCoy had stopped complaining altogether, which Jim found considerably more concerning than the complaints.

He halted Apollo and surveyed the ground ahead. Below them, a narrow creek wound through the reeds at the bottom of the slope.

Jim stared at it and Spock did the same, while McCoy looked from the water to the two of them.

“Well?”

Jim opened the map.

Spock leaned closer.

“There is no secondary watercourse marked in this area.”

McCoy nodded slowly.

“Good.”

Jim traced one line with his finger.

“It could be seasonal.”

“It is presently carrying substantial water.”

“Thank you, Spock.”

“You’re welcome.”

McCoy made a tired sound.

Jim turned the map around, checked the orientation and frowned.

“If that’s the same stream—”

“It cannot be,” Spock said.

“I know.”

“Because we crossed it considerably farther downstream. And our direction since then has—”

“Spock.”

McCoy waited.

Jim looked at the map.

Spock regarded the creek. “The most efficient course would be to return to the last point at which our location was certain.”

Jim looked back across the rolling country they had just crossed.

Retracing their exact route was possible in theory. In practice, there were already several places where they had simply followed the easiest ground rather than anything distinct enough to recognize in reverse.

Sadie shifted beneath Spock, her head turning left again.

This time she didn’t try to move, she simply stood looking in that direction.

Spock looked down between the mare’s ears.

“She has demonstrated a persistent preference for that heading.”

McCoy pointed towards the mare.

“She lives here.”

“She lives at the stable.”

“Exactly.”

Jim folded the map and tucked it back inside his jacket.

Spock looked at him.

“Let her go and let’s see what she does.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose. Sadie continued looking left.

Jim eased Apollo around until he faced the same direction.

“Give her some rein.”

Spock hesitated. McCoy looked heavenward.

“Trust me, she’s not going to take us anywhere worse than we’ve managed on our own.”

“That remains unproven.”

“Give her the reins, Spock.”

Spock loosened his fingers by a measured amount.

Sadie immediately turned left and began walking with a purpose none of them had seen from her all afternoon.

McCoy looked at Spock. Spock looked at Sadie.

Jim smiled.

“Interesting.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“She may simply be returning towards the location where she last observed the other horses.”

Sadie increased her pace, with Apollo following willingly and Bartholomew falling in behind. McCoy settled back into the saddle as comfortably as his bruises allowed.

“Sure, Spock.”

The mare continued across the slope, choosing a narrow route between two stands of scrub before angling towards a shallow saddle in the hills.

Spock watched every turn.

After several minutes he looked back towards the country they had left.

“This direction is approximately southeast.”

Jim glanced at the sun.

“Which is roughly where the stable ought to be.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose.

McCoy smiled for the first time since the gallop.

“Would you look at that.”

Sadie maintained the same purposeful walk across the slope, choosing her route without hesitation. Where the ground dipped she followed the firmer edge; where scrub thickened she angled around it before Spock had any reason to intervene. Apollo followed willingly, and Bart seemed equally content to allow the mare to assume responsibility for the afternoon.

Spock watched the country ahead.

“She is maintaining a remarkably consistent heading.”

McCoy glanced across at him. “You sound surprised.”

“I am making an observation.”

The shallow saddle between the hills opened into a broader strip of grass, and Sadie turned through it without slowing. Several minutes later the ground began to fall gently away.

Jim looked ahead as a line of trees began to appear below them.

Then he heard water.

He brought Apollo alongside Sadie as they entered the shade, and within another hundred meters the trees opened onto a stream.

McCoy stared.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

It was broader here than at their earlier crossing and curved more sharply between the banks, but the clear water, smooth grey stones and thick growth of ferns were unmistakable.

Jim looked upstream.

Spock followed his gaze.

“The crossing we used earlier should lie approximately—”

“There.”

Jim pointed.

Perhaps two hundred meters upstream, a break in the vegetation showed where the trail descended to the water. Even at this distance he could make out the paler strip of disturbed ground on the opposite bank.

McCoy looked at Sadie.

Without waiting for instruction, the mare walked directly into the stream, picked her way through the shallows and crossed at an angle before climbing the opposite bank.

Apollo followed, with Bart close behind.

Spock looked down between Sadie’s ears.

“She appears to have selected a more direct crossing.”

McCoy snorted. “She appears to know where she’s going.”

“That conclusion is increasingly difficult to dispute.”

Jim smiled.

They reached the marked trail a few minutes later.

This time there was no question. The worn track curved through the trees exactly where the map said it should, and farther along stood one of the small painted posts the attendant had shown them before they left.

Jim stopped Apollo beside it and took out the map.

McCoy looked at him.

“You’re not seriously going to check.”

“I’d like to know where we are.”

“I know where we are. We’re behind the horse.”

Spock glanced at McCoy. “That is not a geographical location.”

“It’s the most accurate one we’ve had for an hour.”

Jim found the marker on the map.

Sadie continued walking.

Spock caught her after two strides.

“Wait.”

The mare stopped and turned one ear towards him.

Jim looked at the map, then along the trail.

“She brought us back onto the north loop.”

Spock considered the route Jim was showing him.

“Approximately one kilometer beyond our original crossing.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

McCoy leaned forward against the pommel. “So while you two geniuses were navigating by map, sun, terrain and whatever else Starfleet teaches its brightest officers, she was trying to take us back to the trail.”

Spock looked at Sadie.

The mare stretched towards a clump of grass.

He shortened the reins.

Jim folded the map and put it away.

Spock loosened the reins.

Sadie immediately set off.

The marked trail made the going easier, and for the first time since the herd appeared none of them had to watch every metre of ground ahead. Apollo had settled completely now, his earlier excitement reduced to an occasional lift of the head when the wind carried some distant sound from the hills.

Bart followed with his former patient inevitability.

McCoy shifted experimentally in the saddle and winced.

Jim glanced back. “Still okay?”

“What part of ‘still’ and ‘okay’ do you think applies here?”

Jim faced forward again.

Behind them, Spock allowed Sadie a little more rein. For several minutes the mare simply followed the trail without taking advantage of it.

Then the path divided.

One branch curved uphill through the trees while the other continued on level ground. Jim slowed Apollo, but before he could reach for the map, Sadie turned onto the lower trail.

Spock made no attempt to stop her.

McCoy noticed that too.

“No consultation?”

“The mare has demonstrated superior familiarity with the local trail network.”

The lower trail soon passed through country Jim recognized. A split tree stood beside the path where they had stopped earlier to adjust McCoy’s stirrup, and beyond it the forest began to thin.

Jim looked back towards Spock.

“Definitely right.”

Spock nodded.

Sadie increased her pace, not dramatically but unmistakably. Apollo responded at once, lengthening his stride to stay with her, and Bart raised his head behind them.

McCoy felt the change beneath him and tightened his legs before catching himself.

“No. We’re not racing home.”

Bart’s ears flicked back.

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand me.”

Jim laughed quietly.

The trees opened onto familiar pasture. In the distance, beyond two long paddocks and a line of fencing, the stable roofs came into view.

Sadie saw them.

Her walk immediately became more energetic, and Spock gathered the reins.

“There is no requirement to increase speed.”

Sadie continued at the same brisk pace.

“She knows she’s nearly home,” Jim said.

“I am aware.”

Sadie’s ears snapped forward.

Apollo’s did the same.

Bartholomew immediately found reserves of energy McCoy would have preferred to remain undiscovered.

All three horses quickened.

Jim kept Apollo at a walk. “Easy.”

The gelding obeyed, although his attention remained fixed on the stable yard as the distant clatter of a feed bucket carried across the pasture.

Spock applied a firmer check to Sadie. She slowed, but only after several determined strides.

McCoy looked towards the buildings.

“So that’s the great navigational secret.”

Jim smiled. “Dinner.”

Spock considered the mare beneath him.

“The motivation does not invalidate the accuracy of the route.”

“No,” McCoy agreed. “it reinforces it.”

Sadie’s ears remained fixed towards the stable as the outer gate came into view.

One of the young attendants was crossing the yard with a saddle over his arm when he saw them and stopped. His gaze traveled over the returning party.

Jim was dusty but otherwise looked much as he had when they left. Spock’s hair was slightly disordered, with dried mud streaking his trousers from the stream.

McCoy looked as though the countryside had tried to keep him.

The attendant lowered the saddle.

“Everything all right?”

McCoy stared at him.

Jim dismounted before answering, landing lightly beside Apollo and immediately loosening the girth by a notch.

“Mostly.”

McCoy made a sound and the attendant looked at him more closely.

“You okay, sir?”

“I’ve been thrown off, run away with, lost and insulted by a horse.”

Bartholomew stood quietly beneath him.

The attendant glanced at the grey.

“Bart?”

“Yes, Bart.”

“He usually takes good care of beginners.”

McCoy went very still. Jim turned away. Spock looked towards the stable doors.

McCoy’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not a beginner.”

The attendant hesitated.

“Of course.”

Jim’s shoulders moved.

Another attendant came over to take Apollo while Jim finished loosening the girth and stepped away. The gelding immediately turned his head towards him, and Jim rubbed the broad black forehead before handing over the reins.

Apollo nudged his shoulder.

McCoy watched, muttering something under his breath as he shifted in the saddle and rolled each shoulder separately.

Spock remained mounted while Sadie watched a bucket being carried across the yard.

The mare shifted her weight onto her hindquarters as the attendant approached.

“How’d she do?”

Spock looked down at Sadie.

“She demonstrated a strong tendency towards independent decision-making and repeatedly subordinated my instructions to her own priorities.”

The attendant smiled cautiously.

“Sounds like Sadie.”

“However, her knowledge of the terrain proved superior to ours when it became necessary to return by an unfamiliar route.”

Jim looked at him.

McCoy slowly turned his head.

Spock continued, entirely serious. “I therefore consider the partnership successful.”

Sadie took a step towards the feed bucket.

Spock stopped her.

McCoy’s mouth twitched.

The attendant took hold of the mare while Spock dismounted, his landing considerably less awkward than his first attempt at the stable. He straightened his jacket and turned towards Jim with a trace of satisfaction.

Behind him, the attendant loosened Sadie’s girth and began leading her towards the stable. The mare went willingly enough until she saw the feed bucket.

Then her pace doubled, forcing the attendant to lengthen his stride to keep up.

McCoy watched her go.

Sadie reached the bucket and buried her muzzle in it before the attendant had fully removed the bridle.

Jim smiled as Spock raised one eyebrow.

“Our objectives, at least, appear to have coincided.”

Jim laughed.

Bartholomew, now relieved of McCoy, was already being led after Sadie with renewed interest, while Apollo followed close behind.

McCoy stood in the yard with one hand pressed to his lower back and watched all three disappear into the stable. Then he looked at Jim.

“Next shore leave, I pick the activity.”

Jim’s smile widened.

“That seems fair.”

“Next shore leave, I pick the activity.”

Jim’s smile widened.

“That seems fair.”

McCoy scowled at him. “And it won’t involve paying for the privilege of staying alive on top of half a ton of beast with a mind of its own.”

Spock joined them.

“I would have no objection to another equestrian excursion.”

McCoy stared at him.

Spock joined them.

“I would have no objection to another equestrian excursion.”

McCoy stared at him.

Spock glanced towards the stable, where Sadie was still eating with complete concentration.

“I believe Sadie and I have reached an effective understanding.”

McCoy closed his eyes.

Jim put a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the visitor center.

“Coffee?”

“Something stronger.”

Behind them came the rattle of another feed bucket. Sadie didn’t look up.