Agnes POV
Merrick was a good rider.
Better than good - he rode the way people rode when they had learned young and ridden often and had never needed to think about it, the body and the horse operating as a single thing. It was impressive - unlike other werewolves who couldn't ride because they depended on their wolf form for everything, including traveling.
I let him beat me.
Three times - pulling back just enough, checking the mare just before she would have shown what she had, acting like a woman who was terrible at riding. I watched Merrick from my peripheral vision for any sign that he was doing the same thing, performing for me the way I was performing for him.
He wasn't.
He rode straight, no games.
"The west boundary," I said, when we had been riding a few minutes. "I've never seen that side of the territory. What's out there?"
He glanced at me.
"Forest mostly," he said. "Opens onto common land about two miles out."
"And beyond that?"
"Depends which direction."
