It smelled of rancid tallow and neglect. Basia tied Ruin to the heavy iron ring on the oak post in the center of the yard. She didn't leave him enough slack to turn his head and bite her. The horse stood with his legs splayed, muscles twitching under his filthy coat like flayed nerves.
He was sweating despite the biting cold. A thick white lather was already building between his hind legs and along his neck. "You're going to need a leg up." West said, keeping a very careful distance. He held the girth strap like it was a live snake.
"If you touch me, he'll explode." Basia said, her voice tight. Her hands were throbbing where the skin had been scraped from her knuckles. "Slide the saddle over the fence, slowly." Henry watched from the edge of the muck. He hadn't moved.
His dark wool coat was perfectly still in the wind, but his eyes tracked her every movement. He was waiting for the inevitable crack of bone. He had seen strong men, men with biceps the size of Basia's waist, thrown like rag dolls by this animal. He found himself fascinated by the sheer stubborn stupidity of the woman.
She was shivering. The oversized coat she wore was soaked through at the hem, dragging in the mud, and she favored her right shoulder when she reached for the heavy leather. She wasn't a hero. She was a desperate stray.
And desperation, in Henry's experience, usually led to catastrophic mistakes. Basia hoisted the saddle. It was absurdly heavy. Pain shot down her bruised collarbone, sharp and bright, but she gritted her teeth, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.
She let the saddle hover over Ruin's back for a fraction of a second before dropping it gently into place. The horse flinched violently, dropping his spine and scooting sideways. His iron-shod hooves scraped harshly against the cobblestones, striking sparks. Basia didn't back away.
She stayed pressed against his shoulder, moving with him, her left hand keeping a vice grip on the halter. "Whoa," she breathed, entirely out of breath. "Whoa, you miserable brute." She reached under his belly for the girth. The smell of hot, angry horse filled her lungs, a sharp, pungent musk that tasted like dirt.