"It's a complicated thing, evil. You're right. Not everyone sees it right away, if ever. I know I didn't." She spoke softly, head down as if in shame. "Justifications are made, excuses given. And people believe them, whether they're true or not. It all sounds so reasonable. And then one day you wake up and realize all this time it was wrong. The reasons are flimsy, or just not good enough to justify the evil. That, or if it didn't start that way, somewhere along the line it went wrong. Slowly. Gradually. But by then it's too late and it's already done." She spoke from experience and she didn't even try to hide it. That, at least, she could talk about. The vague generalities of it, sure. But the specifics? Not yet. 

"I don't really know if I truly fully believe that the Tree guards against evil. Not all of it, or even most of it. It's like it defends against the large-scale things of war and slavery. But it doesn't protect anyone from manipulation, from heartbreak, murder, rape, or exploitation. Not really. And I don't know how I feel about that." 

Ridahne watched as Talbot suddenly leapt forward, throwing his rider in the process. She gave Tsura his head and let him follow, moving fluidly as the horse halfway reared and then bounded forward into a dead run, ready for some action. He was an intense horse, too much for most people, but then again so was she. She loved his fire. Talbot, while having a steadier temperament, still had a lot of fire of his own, it seemed. Ridahne laughed as she approached. "Seems like he is your new riding teacher, not me. That arm of yours still attached?" She'd have to look at it tonight and make sure there was no start of infection or tearing of the stitching. 

All sorted, Darin scrambled back up onto Talbot. Ridahne gave a few pointers here and there but Darin eventually mounted again and, in an almost uncharacteristic display of boldness, she ordered Talbot forward at a run. Ridahne grinned. She would make a rider of Darin yet. Tsura bounded after Talbot, his black mane streaking behind him as Ridahne rode low against his back. Her own black hair streamed behind her in a mirrored imitation of Tsura's mane and tail. She missed the days of running Tsura over the desert sands at night when the air was cool and filled with the sound of chittering insects.

"Ride low and let him move under you!" Ridahne instructed over the scream of wind and the pounding of hooves. She gave a hand signal and though it was foreign to these parts, it was fairly easy to assume it was a positive gesture, perhaps of encouragement or reassurance.