Athos ran his hand along the neck and shoulders of the dark chestnut mare. She was tall, lean, with a short back, long belly, and even longer legs. Her temperament was calm as she stood quietly with her left hind hoof cocked. She blinked slowly as the long strokes continued along her summer coat that was slightly bleached because of her time in the sun. The other seven mares were just as equal in quality, but her temperament was more suited for Athos who enjoyed intelligence more than spirit. Much like the women in his life, their beauty surpassed only by their intellect.
He had saddled their horses before the sun crested the horizon, unable to sleep he had taken Porthos and Aramis' shift on watch. They would bypass breakfast and instead eat dried fruit and jerky while they continued their travels toward Paris.
The mare sighed, shifted her hindquarters, and lowered her head. Athos heard the stirring from camp: Porthos' stretch and yawn, d'Artagnan's groan, and Aramis' grumble. Without being ordered, they rolled their bedrolls, buckled their weapons belts, and prepared for the long ride.
"You should have awoken me," Aramis said, as he tied his bedroll behind his saddle. He rubbed his eyes, looked over the seat toward Athos, and cocked an eyebrow.
"You can take my shift tonight," Athos said.
Aramis stepped forward and rested his arm over the back of Athos' saddle. "You mean, if you sleep?" He licked his bottom lip and shook his head. "If you don't, you will drop — you've done it before — you can't keep this up."
"If I do," Athos said, and lifted the corners of his mouth in a subtle smile, "be grateful I'm not as big as Porthos —"
"Athos," Aramis interrupted, and looked toward Porthos as he readied his gear, "you can't keep going like this." He ran his hand over the curve of the pommel."
Athos adjusted the lead. He nodded once, but didn't respond. Instead, he untied his horse from his tie and quickly mounted. "Let's go."
Aramis rubbed his brow, glanced toward Porthos, and shrugged with a shake of his head.
"We should reach Auton by tonight," Athos said. He adjusted the chestnut's lead-line, three other mares were tethered behind her.
Aramis mounted and watched Porthos ride ahead with four of the mares tethered behind him.
Athos looked toward d'Artagnan whose neck was still black and blue, eyes still bloodshot, and the injury to his arm caused him discomfort as he held it close to his chest.
Porthos rode lead as they continued their journey. They followed the river, listened as the horses' hooves met hard clay, and the water's gentle waves hit the sides of the bank. The leaves on the trees fluttered, and the sun continued to highlight the ground and elongate shadows as they rode past trees.
At some point Aramis whistled a simple tune. He stopped occasionally to hum and then whistle again. He looked toward the water, watched the ducks land and fly away. Fish jumped, water splashed, and sent ripples across the surface. The countryside was beautiful, wild grasses bowed and weaved with the subtle breezes. Trees full of leaves cast long shadows across the ground. They could see cattle in the distance, grazing on pasture grass and nursing their calves. Early spring flowers bloomed, insects brave enough to face the weather danced from one plant to the next, and the horses swatted their tails at the annoyance.
A flock of geese flew up from the marshes at the edge of the lake and the horses spooked. They pulled on their leads, swatted their tails, and jumped. The gray mare led by Porthos snorted, reared, and yanked him from the saddle. He fell with a "humph" onto his right side, but kept his grasp on the lead. He groaned and was suddenly pulled upright when the mare yanked her head back. If not for the situation the scene would have been comical. Porthos, arms spread wide, right leg extended behind him. He had leapt toward the mare and landed in an awkward, yet graceful arabesque.
D'Artagnan snickered.
Athos had kept his seat. The chestnut mare had pulled back, more startled by the other horses than the geese. She pinned her ears and kicked at the mare behind her before she took advantage of the slack in her lead and immediately started to graze. The mares behind her were quick to follow her lead and quieted.
Aramis shifted, his horse sidestepped and tossed his head, but he kept his seat. He turned to check Porthos and watched him flex his hand, wince, and settle the gray.
D'Artagnan took a deep breath, adjusted his seat, and said, "You want me to take them?" He looked toward Porthos.
"No!" Aramis shouted. He shook his head and said, "You're in no shape to lead a donkey." He raised his eyebrows and skeptically met his eyes. "You just protect my needlework." He grumbled something and adjusted the reins.
D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows and quirked a smile.
"Auton is not far," Athos said, and looked toward Aramis. "If we hurry we'll be there before nightfall."
Aramis nodded and followed.