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Quicksilver spins around quickly, and now I’m staring at his butt.

“Are you asking me to scratch this?” Most horses love getting butt scratches. They can’t reach it easily, and if my butt was that big and beautiful and hairy, I’d probably long for a butt scratch, too. I do what any good horse girl does, and I reach out and scratch his butt with both hands, my fingernails digging in, especially right around the base of his tail.

At first, he jumps, like he was not expecting it, but then he does what horses always do and shifts a bit, then freezes, his neck stretching, his head lifting, lifting, lifting, and finally, his eyes closing.

“No horse can resist a good butt scratch.” I can’t help my laugh.

It startles him, though, and he spins back around.

“If you can just handle the stall in here for one night, I promise that before I leave on the train tomorrow, I’ll make sure you’re free and safe.”

Quicksilver starts to whinny, and then he whuffles, and then he makes one of the strangest horse sounds I’ve heard, a kind of grunting snort whinny.

I shake my head. “You are one odd animal. Surely you know that.”

He sighs, dramatically, like the whole world’s against him.

I pat his neck. “It’s going to be fine. I swear it is.”

When his dinner arrives, he tears into it. But when Gavriil returns to collect me, Quicksilver freaks out again.

“I hate that horse,” Gav says.

“Can you just bring my food in here?” I ask. “And maybe bring a sleeping bag? I think I’m going to have to sleep in here.”

“Did you sleep with him while you were breaking him?”

I shake my head. “But we’re both a little strung out right now, being on the run from not one, but two different groups. And, we can’t really afford to draw more attention to him.”

Gavriil doesn’t like it, but eventually he gives up again. When he brings me a sandwich, Quicksilver tries to eat it.

I swat him. “Stop. You have yours.” I shove him toward the hay. “Leave mine alone.”

He pins his ears, but he goes back to his dinner.

And after we’re done eating and I’ve had a quick bathroom break, I unroll my sleeping bag in the corner and lie down. Thirty seconds later, Quicksilver lies down too, right next to me. He sets his giant head close to mine and closes his eyes.

“I think that horse is insane,” Gavriil says. “I’m sleeping in the office, so if you need something, just shout.”

Quicksilver lifts his head and blows air right at him, as if to say, go away.

I’m tired enough that, even with the anxiety that we’ll be found, I go right to sleep. When I wake up, I’m curled up against Quicksilver’s side, my head resting on his shoulder. I sit up with a jolt, and realize that he’s watching me.

There’s just a little bit of light streaming through the side of the stall, so it must be close to dawn. I yawn and try to brush my hand through my hair. It’s such a disaster that I give up on that right away.

Even with the shavings, the night’s sleep did me a lot of good. I feel way better.

Until a man runs, shouting, into the barn. “Mr. Belov!”

Gavriil shoots out of the office. “What’s wrong?” he asks in Russian.

I hear him close the office door, but I’m not sure whether we should stay somewhat hidden or hop up and get ready to run.

“There are men outside. They’re claiming you’re harboring a stolen horse, and they say they’ve called the police.”

Gavriil swears under his breath. “It’s fine. I’ll call my uncle.”

“Don’t bother.” That’s a voice I know.