From Resurrection: The Heresy of a Jesuit:
“They plunged across the stream, man and horse in perfect harmony, galloping for their lives.
His tattered and mud-splattered cape streamed behind him, and his breeches bore the scratches and rips that headlong flight through dense woodland had inflicted.
And yet, his mind sang with exhilaration that approached ecstatic joy. He lived for this. The Chase.
Of course, he grudgingly thought. Normally, I am doing the chasing.
Up a sandy path, slipping and sliding as hooves dug deep, shredding the sparse turf in their fury, climbing from the valley bottom toward the ridge that loomed above.
Atop the crest, they raced, twisting and turning through the trees, leaping over fallen logs. Thorny brambles grasped longingly at expensive breeches and slick horseflesh.
Finally, the way was clear and straight, so he hazarded a glance over his shoulder.
Despite his efforts, the pursuers had gained ground.
Terpsichore was tiring.
He could feel it in the slower beat of her hooves, in the cadence of her rise and fall, in the snort and whistle of her laboured breathing.
She had given her all, and then some more, but it had not been enough.
It was not the mare’s fault; it was his own. He was the one who had overstretched their limits, trying to reach the next town before dark.”
[Author’s note: I chose the name ‘Terpsichore’ for Hamza’s horse because of it’s Greek Myth background: Terpsichore ]