Riding was a sensation Noah had to adapt to.
Not the seat. The seat was effortless, anchored by boons into a fact of existence! What required adapting was everything flowing through the seat, the drumming of a Fealty-heart the size of a realm beneath him, the tidal rhythm of Valor's lungs, eighteen mixing Causes turning under his palms like an engine of virtues, and his own seas pouring down into all of it while her ancient rivers poured back up.
Two existences breathing in each other's rhythm, and every breath of it settling deeper! It felt far, far too intimate than he expected.
And with his reformed body, reborn light and sharp from the Root, in addition to this ridiculous empowerment that came from mounting Hvitrmarr…Noah was able to very clearly sense the power that made this Steed want to run away.
His gaze rose across the blackened gigaparsecs.
And he looked upon the maddened figure of the Cursed Descendant.
