ikissdhimbck | OOM sorta: Rooms, back door, stables, in the morning.

The gelding follows suit and breaks into the easy canter, tossing his head a bit before he hits his stride.

"He don't like t'quit," he explains. "Don't like bein' reined in and slowed down after runnin' full out. Fights you for it. I ain't his normal rider...he don't think he's gotta listen to me."

"I can understand that," she smirks, nodding her head once.

"It's the might of being out there, nothin' but the wind pulling you back, dry dust pulsing beneath you as you race for nothin'," she elaborates, looking out towards the horizon. "There was nothing quite like that freedom, when my Chestnut would take me over them fences, out into the desert where naught but hell 'r high water could rein us back. Somethin' about that dry heat blowing through your hair 'n chappin' your lips. Never wanted to quit, once I got out there. Always resented it when someone would come lookin' for me."

She chuckles, shaking her head. After a time she peers down at the gelding, taking note of the look in his eye. She inclines her chin to him.

"He don't think he's gotta listen to you, 'cuz maybe you ain't listenin' to him. Some horses are just born to run. Pullin' 'em back is like clippin' their wings. It does something to their spirit."

She falls quiet, thinking the words over her own self.

"Reckon you're right about that." Doc reaches one hand up to stroke over the gelding's neck, and then nods. "Suppose I should listen, then."

It isn't long before they reach a long, wide stretch of flat grass, the place they raced before. It seems bigger, now, but maybe that's just Milliways playing tricks. The ground is soft, from the rain and cold weather soaking into the earth, and when Doc chirrups sharply to command him to go, clods of mud and grass fly up from his hooves as he breaks from their pace and into a heated gallop.

He knows that Nova won't be far behind - especially if she's riding him.

She marvels in his wake a moment, impressed by the sheer power of his launch when he took off, hooves pounding the earth like a drum.

Nova takes a few quick steps in excitement, lifting his head higher as he lets out with a snort, but he doesn't break the canter. He's obedient to the lead of his rider, despite those obvious "pack instincts" - that's a good thing to know.

She smiles at him, rubbing his neck tenderly. "Y'ain't gotta wait for my word," she murmurs, adjusting the reins in her hand.

"Giddy up!" she cries, kicking him gently, and that's all the permission he needs before he lets loose like a rocket, in hot pursuit of his master and that new black gelding.

If Katherine had been wearing a hat, it would have been knocked clean off. There's a bit more power to Nova's run than was in Duncan's. It's easy to tell, even within the first second, that this is a horse used to running like hell.

And judging by the beam on her face, that's just fine by Katherine.

Nova is very used to running like hell, and given the fact that this is soft, even grass to run on - and not sandy desert or rocky creek or thorny brush - he's glad for the opportunity.

And it's also obvious that Doc is used to running like hell, and riding a horse that's running like there's no tomorrow. There's a certain body language and rhythm that he gets, where he becomes a part of the machine. Not rider and horse. Team. Partners.

His hair is streaked back and his coat flying behind him, and he can't quite see straight with the water in his eyes, but he doesn't care. He trusts this horse. Maybe not as much as he trusts Nova, but he trusts him enough to let him go as long as he wants to.

Which means that when they hit the edge of the clearing, where Doc would normally think about pulling him up, he doesn't, and he lets him charge straight into the trees, sunlight dancing through the limbs as they thunder down the path.

Not a rider and a horse.

A team. Partners.

Katherine is observant to what Nova has been telling her, is telling her, giving slack to the desires of her mount. But when she sees Doc heading into that treeline, she gently urges Nova to follow her lead, dictating an altered pace, directing him in a certain line...

She catches up fast. The sounds of dry leaves kicked under thundering hooves echoes against bark and branch, spiraling up, up, up like a cyclone, what's left of the leaves on the branches chittering, shaking, murmuring in their wake.

There's less than a heartbeat between the two riders.

And given the way her heart is pounding, they are close.

Her cutting the distance with the shortened line takes him a bit by surprise, the same with the gelding, but he's content enough with the fact that Doc hasn't pulled him back yet to keep on his current path.

"Now for one second," Doc calls, loudly, voice carrying back to her. "Picture that this ain't Milliways. Picture it bein' Sherwood, more green..."

The path shifts and Doc follows, as they dip down and splash across a thin current of water that's trickling down from somewhere, headed for the lake.

"I ain't got much to go on for 'magination, save for 'green'!" she calls back, feeling her voice whip back and hit her in the face.

But that's all she really needs. She's read the fables. She pictures lush, heavy boughs, and moss-covered earth, and she grins when she feels the cold spray of water kicked against her shins.

"I'll take y'sometime, that's a promise!"

If he can convince Will, but he's sure that won't be too much of a challenge.

This isn't an easy pleasure ride through the forest. This isn't a gentleman and a lady taking a tour of the grounds. This is two friends (two kids) going hell bent for leather and kicking up mud and earth and loving every minute of it.

"I'll hold you to it!"

Doc should know by now: when it comes to making promises to Katherine, you best be keeping them.

She lets out a hoot as they cross over a small culvert in the road, Nova flying like a bat out of hell over the gully, and landing with a graceful step. Kate ducks to avoid a low hanging branch, laughing the whole way.

There's nothing like the pounding of your heart and the pounding of hooves beneath you, while your lungs are so cold, and ache so bad, you're just sure you won't be able to take another minute of it.

His lungs are already aching, from the sharp air and the breathless feeling that comes from dodging branches (though one thin one smacks him in the arm and he'll have a mark come evening but he doesn't give a damn in the slightest) and riding like you've got nothing to lose.

It's how he lives.

You run like hell or you get caught, and if you get caught, then you've got no reason to be running in the first place.

When they hit a narrow stretch, it's then and only then that Doc tightens up on the reins a bit, slowing him down. The gelding fights him on it, protesting the slowing to a canter with a loud snort and tossing of his head, angry at having to slow, even with his breath coming just as hard as Doc's is, thin sheen of sweat broken out over that dark coat.

Katherine might worry about slowing her own self down in time, were she on another steed. But Nova's a smart fella, and he's already slackening off his speed before Katherine even pulls back on the reins. She clucks and coos at him, with what breath she can muster.

As she comes up on Doc's side, he'll notice that somewhere along the way her hair fell from its carefully constructed bun, and is now falling around her ears in soft, windblown curls.

He might also notice that the look in her eyes isn't entirely dissimilar to the glare in the gelding's.

He'll certainly have never seen her look more wild than in this instant. It's not something she shows often.

It's a look he likes, in her eyes.

The look in his own is different. Softer, even. Doc's not exactly 'wild', just this moment, but that outlaw spark is there, where she'll be able to see it.

"Nothin' better than runnin' like hell," he comments, as he catches his bearings in the cool air and tries to figure out just where they are. The trail loops all the way around, so it's not hard to follow, but with the pace and the blur in his eyes, he wasn't paying much attention to the scenery.

He laughs, quietly, and strokes the gelding's neck.

"He handle alright?"

Not like he expects anything other than a positive answer.

Oh, she sees it.

"Terrible," she teases, hiding her smirk (though he'll see it in her eyes). Her chest is heaving from the thrill of the ride.

"He's an incredible mount. Honest. And I can see why you two get along so well," she baits, reaching to stroke Nova's neck as well.

"We've been workin' together a long time."

In reality, it ain't been all that long, just since he was sprung from the pit (which seems like ages ago) and they'd realized that they couldn't quite just go on back to their lives.

'That's for the horse.'
'Horse ain't for sale, Doc. But how 'bout my boots, they're nice and broke...'

Doc smiles a little bit at the memory, of wrestling Billy in the dirt and being so damn mad at him, for everything, but on the same token, he'd gotten him out of that pit and saved him from the gallows...they were pals.

He nods.

"You've been through a lot together," she also points out.

Her eyes glaze over with the memory of Doc riding into Milliways, his gut purple with blood and the black dye from his clothes, the coat of his dark bay stained here and there with droplets of red.

'Mary, Mother of God!'

She shakes the memory from her mind, letting her thick, blonde hair obscure her face.

"I see a lot of you in him," she murmurs.

"Boy's saved my hide more times than I care to recall," he admits, with a respectful nod of his head in acknowledgment and agreement of the statement she's made. His own mind is aware of what she's thinking of.

Doc wasn't quite sure how he made it back to Milliways, but he had. Everything was a bit of a blur.

She's quiet for a long while, looking out on the horizon as they slowly mosey along. You can tell by the gentle knit of her brow, and the far-off look in her eyes, that she's not quite in the present anymore.

"He's a good boy," she mumbles absently, letting her fingers curl around some of his dark hair.

"He is."

He's content to let both the animals (and both riders) calm down a bit, working out the tension and the rush as they pick their way through the woods.

"They both are."

Doc combs a hand through his hair, the ragged cut of the strands only magnified by the windblown and unkempt appearance being sported at the moment.

It's not warm by any stretch, especially not after a ride like that, wind cutting through her hair like a knife and numbing up her nose. But when she tips her head back, she can feel the gentle warmth of sunlight trying to slice through the umbrage, eyes closed to the mottled shadows thus cast.

There's a ruckus in the air as leaves and boughs and branches and animal and wind and sun commune, and she takes a quiet moment to listen to the conversation, trusting Nova to watch the path and carry her true.

Even if she didn't, she'd trust Doc.

And Doc knows that she trusts him, which is why he leads them along at an easy clip. Nova's plenty good at following, so neither of them need to say a word.

It's almost better that way.

He sneaks a glance back at her face, at the way she's soaking in the sun and the surroundings, and then returns his attention to the path in front of them. Eventually, they round the lake and begin the long trek back towards the inlet, and eventually, the stables.

It'll take them awhile, and Doc's just fine with that, even if it is a bit cold out, still.

Katherine doesn't open her eyes until she hears Nova nicker softly again. He's still breathing a bit hard from their run. His coat is sleek, and she makes a mental note to be sure to brush him again when they get back, and throw a blanket over him for a bit so the cold weather doesn't bother him.

Her hand is running softly along his neck while she murmurs nothing in particular in his ear. He continues to nicker now and again.

"You could do for some water, handsome. And maybe another treat."

She knows Doc will have heard that, but she doesn't mind much.

She feels a sudden bite of hunger.

"...S'pose we could, too."

Doc hears her, but doesn't mind much himself.

"Brush 'em both down, let them get a drink and a few bites t'eat, then turn 'em out and let them relax the rest of the afternoon. Then we can eat that lunch y'brought with us."

He glances back over at her.

"Now y'see, if you hadn't brought that, I wouldn't have eaten 'fore a few hours yet." He reaches into his pocket for a bit of the jerky, tears a piece off, then slows the gelding to come even with her (minimal protest, this time) so he can offer her a strip.

"I know," she remarks, meeting his glance with a slightly scolding look. "Which is why I brought it."

She takes the proffered strip with a mild chuckle, looking at it a moment before trying a bite. It's been a while since the last time she's had jerky. It isn't the most ladylike snack, after all.

Therefore, it might be a little surprising to see her bite a chunk with her molars, tearing it from the strip with some concentrated effort (and a rather hilarious expression >.<), before chewing. She adjusts herself in the saddle, looking more the part of a Texas ranch hand than a Victorian-era lady.

"There y'go," he beams, proudly. "I'll git you learned proper in the ways of outlawin' yet."

The horses move along at that steady clip as he settles into the saddle, his body content to sway with the motions as he eats. This is part of life. You eat on the move. Sometimes it's just jerky and a skin of water, or a bottle of tequila. A bit of fruit if you've managed to pass an orchard in the last day or two.

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