[Varyan wakes alone the following morning, but a fine folded vellum parchment is on the pillow next to him, inscribed with extraordinarily beautiful calligraphy.]
O, Steed!
With your limbs lathed from lustrous cords of ebony
Your mane silken threads plucked from a Sultana's veil
Your heart a hammer swung by a titan
Your eyes wiser than a thousand cloistered mystics
So long have you carried the weight of my body
The burden of my heavy spirit
Rest now.
The stars shall be your pasture,
The south wind your trail.
And the gods themselves barely fit to curry your flanks.
With tear-blurr'd gaze I watch you race toward them,
The rhythm of your racing hooves
Held ever in the beat of my heart
And when next I see you, I shall throw glad arms about your great neck
Offer you slices of a summer apple
And swiftly shall we ride to heaven's gates together
And dare the gods themselves to keep pace
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