Bess had been flushed, taken by the hand and led into the dream world with this witching man as its lord. The beast was like any lord should be astride and her girlish heart leapt into full life. Eyes bright, she offered a hand to the steed as the man untied reigns and turned to her. A warm puff on the palm of her hand felt as if it were nothing less than fire and it rippled through her with the force of a midday sun. 

She was pliant as he set her into the saddle and when he squeezed in, forcing her to fit between he and the pommel, she blinked up at the dark hat and smiled in pure, unadulterated delight. No matter that she sat astride a man's thighs to make room, never had she ridden a horse with a saddle, least of all a royal creature of eventide before a lord of the forest! He gathered the reigns and turned the horse's head, the cords of muscle in his arms rolling against her back. Then they were off. 

It is not an easy thing to ride a horse alone, more so together with another and in the dark, but Reynard directed his mount easily, obviously knowing the forests as well as he might his own apartments. The beast, too, was smooth – a rider's horse and not a great, jarring draft as she had ridden when a child. She began to settle into the pleasantness of the ride, when they broke free of the forest's confines and almost as if by magic, the great horse gathered its hindquarters and leapt into life. Bess gasped softly, hand going to catch at the pommel and catching instead at his sleeve. She let it go so as not to interfere with his riding then found the pommel. 

The horse mounted the higher way and with dirt under hoof, proved that he had been crafted out of winds, just as his master had been formed from night shadows. Bess was thrown against the man's solid chest and she gasped for breath as the wind tore tears from her eyes and she laughed in sheer shock and awe. Never had she moved like this! It was as if they were flying. No – nothing so smooth as the air carrying them, for it was a creature under them, but with the man's body behind, guiding her into natural motion with the horse's rhythms, she had little need to consider their earthly state. Instead, it was the wind and the sheer rush of life which flushed her and stole her breath. Above, the stars glittered and below, the pale road wound through the countryside as if it were a stream of moonlight. 

After what felt like an instant, they were back into the shadows and moving at deathly speed along a lesser used track, clearing stiles and through pastures which her mind may have recognized had it been her own world. This was his, however, and only he had the map of it in his heart. Bess was a guest, kidnapped by the lights and the shadows, the winds and the greatest trickster of the English countryside. 

All too soon, and an eternity later, he pulled the beast to a stop. She could feel the great heart of the beast against her heel as he tossed his head and blew out a gusty sigh of disappointment. His chest bellowed underneath them and they rose and fell with the horse's attempt to catch his breath. Behind her, the man was still and she - 

She was alive! She turned her head to look back at the shadowed face under that great brim and overcome, grasped this dream about the neck to pull him into a clasp. Not so forward, but already, she was lost and she laughed breathlessly and a bit on the edge of madness for what had driven her to such lengths if not madness? He was more intoxicating than elderberry wine, leaving her light headed and senseless. 

Burying her face into his breast, she closed her eyes against it all. Her cheeks were cold and his chest was as warm as the beast beneath them. “Thank you,” she whispered and then, returning to a semblance of reality, she pulled back and set her hand on his chest with a giggle (one which she would have been loathe to give him only a few days prior). “Lor', but it's... “ she turned to look out upon the fairy land he'd taken her to. 

“Got nowt ta say,” she admitted, ashamed she couldn't give him the words he'd given her. But then, these were his lands, not hers. The magic rolled about him and for her, she was left without a wit in her head. Frozen in place, she mused herself into silence and stared at the silver tipped grasses, the gleam of bright upon waters, as if each one was made of some strange, liquid metal, and woven all throughout, the sudden warmth of the man, the beast, each carrying something sweet and wild to her nose. 

The surreal aspect of it all bowled her over and if he had thought to make her stand right then, she'd have merely crumpled to the earth, shaken as she was. Not even inside her hidden hollow had she been so encompassed by Beauty. No simple trinket this. He had given her a key to a country she was sure did not exist but in dreams. 

And was it a dream? She lay back against him again, as if she were a puppet with the strings cut. “Are y'real?” she mused. “Ta'en me ta th' underhill, have ye? But I'll nowt ask ta go home, I promise.”