Tether in hand and eyes forward, Jonathan angled his heels into the horse’s flanks, and she began to move.
It’s what she wants.
Hot tears dripped down his cheeks, fell from his chin. He was glad the three of them were alone. Just him, the seal mare, and Joceyln, all quieter than churchmice.
The salty waves splashed up the meet his ankles, their aroma stinging his nostrils, and the horse—her favorite—slowed, questioning.
“We have to, girl. It’s what she wants.” He didn’t want it. How could he possibly go through with it?