Swift Cloud didn't feel the need to rest. Rage fulled her, drove her limbs on, kept her senses sharp and clear. It was honed to a fine point, a point she intended to drive into the heart of the enemy, twist, and savour his death screams.<br/><br/>However, the horse appealed to her compassion. It was a fine strong beast, but it needed to feed and drink. Her brother had not complained, though perhaps he too, felt the strain of their march. She could not tell. The wizard had not complained either, which reflected well of him.