The wind howled against the windowpanes.
His hooves pounded against her chest.
Each step rattled the earth, shook her soul.
He thundered up the hill, nostrils flared,
Short, labored breath.
They charged across powdery landscape.
It moved with them.
They were one, plowing through
Snowdrifts and muddy cow-trails.
Speckled brown and white,
Fuzzy, coat reflecting
Glistening white landscape beneath him.
Each snapped branch against the jolted house,
Like a heavy weight ridden footstep of the big horse.
A loose curl fell upon her neck;
Like the soft snuffle and his whiskers
The bed quivered beneath her
Her knees ached,
Reminiscing the bitter air
Cold pressure against the saddle leather.
Cold, metal irons, wrapped around her boots
Her breath quickened as the noises increased
And the wind blew harder
It matched his labored breathing up the hill.
His muscles quivered
She could feel his weight as the house shook.
She could feel the hard, stiff leather between her fingers,
The power they retained,
The small riding crop pressed in her palm,
The movement of his stride.
She controlled it. A branch cracked.
The house shook.
His eyes challenged the horizon
He glared at its fireside glow.
The sun was setting
With tender care he picked his way through
The slippery snow
She trusted the warhorse.
Unlike the unforgiving wooden posts
Of the swaying and billowing house
Where she sat.
The ride was long.