He dug in his heels and Seyfried nervously lowered his head into a frantic gallop. Ahead, riding the far faster one-horn, she was a streak of white between trees. They were far off the King’s road already, and receding ever further into the deep forest; his hopes of catching her receding just as quickly.
He pulled up on the reins, and Seyfried came to a grateful halt. “We’ve lost her, boy, and the prize with her.” He thought he saw her, once more, a glimpse that could have been a curl of fog or a trick of the eye. “Damn.”