Black Horse Quotes

“They went out the back of the house to the great stone terrace, its wide curving steps leading down to the gardens. The moonlight was crossed with shredded clouds that glowed against a sky the color of black plums. Puzzled but willing, Amelia went with Cam to the bottom of the steps.
He stopped and gave a short whistle.
"What-" Amelia gasped as she heard the pounding of heavy hooves and saw a huge black form rushing toward them like something from a nightmare. Alarm darted through her, and she burrowed against Cam, her face hidden against his chest. His arm went around her, tucking her close.
When the thundering stopped, Amelia risked a glance at the apparition. It was a horse. A huge black horse, with puffing breaths that rose like wraiths in the raw air.
"Is this really happening?" she asked.
Cam reached in his pocket and fed the horse a sugar lump, and ran his hand over the sleek midnight neck. "Have you ever had a dream like this?"
"Never."
"Then it must be happening."
"You actually have a horse who comes when you whistle?"
"Yes, I trained him."
"What is his name?"
His smile gleamed white in the darkness. "Can't you guess?"
Amelia thought for a moment. "Pooka?" The horse turned his head to look at her as if he understood. "Pooka," she repeated with a faint smile. "Do you have wings, by any chance?"
At Cam's subtle gesture, the horse shook his head in an emphatic no, and Amelia laughed shakily.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

“Emeline turned around to discover the biggest, blackest horse breathing on her face. She stared up into enormous golden eyes. Flecks of red dusted the horse's irises, like a fire sparking, and her hot breath smelled like smoke.
Holy hell.
Emeline stepped quickly back----straight into the boy. The scent of him enveloped her: like crushed pine needles and oiled leather.
"This is Lament."
"Uh-huh," she whispered, staring at the massive beast, which was pawing the ground as if to say, I'm getting impatient! Let us leave! When she threw back her head, those golden eyes flickered red.”
― Kristen Ciccarelli, Edgewood

“Lament's trot soon became a canter. Her canter, a gallop. The forest blurred around them as they picked up speed, blazing through copses and thickets, the rhythm of the horse's hooves drumming like thunder.
Despite the stinging wind crushing past them, it wasn't cold. Heat radiated from Lament's black coat, and when Emeline looked down she found red flames flickering in the horse's mane. Tongues of fire engulfed Emeline's fingers, licking her skin. She jerked hand free, staring in horror. But her fingers were unsinged.
Holy cats!
Was Lament an ember mare?
It was impossible. The wild, unearthly horses were forged of fire and said to be uncatchable. Untamable. In no story she knew had one ever been ridden.
But Emeline had thought shadow skins impossible too.
The pungent tang of smoke smoldered in the air. They were out of the Stain---nothing dead surrounded them here. The forest was lush and green and living. But in the distance, Emeline saw red.
Fire.
It surged toward them from the right, spreading quickly. Emeline was about to cry out in alarm, in case the boy at her back hadn't seen it, when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Hundreds of them. Pummeling the earth in time with Lament's.
Wait.
Emeline squinted into the distance.
It wasn't a forest fire advancing on them. It was a massive herd of ember mares. Their black bodies raged red, like burning coal, and their manes smoldered with bright flames. They were stampeding, headed straight for Lament with no sign of slowing or stopping.”
― Kristen Ciccarelli, Edgewood

“All around them, ember mares rushed alongside Lament. They had never intended to trample her but to join her. The graceful rhythm of their muscular bodies, the thunder in their hooves as they ran...they mesmerized Emeline. Moving as one, they reminded her of a cresting wave. A sea of fire.
And beyond their blazing splendor, all was black.
Night had fallen in the woods.
In the steady rhythm of Lament's gait, Emeline heard assurances she'd been too frightened to hear before. I have you, Lament's hooves pounded out. I am steady and true. I won't let you fall.”
― Kristen Ciccarelli, Edgewood

“Where is Claray's horse?"
"This is Claray's mount," her father announced, and she couldn't help noticing his pride as he glanced to the black steed pulling impatiently at the reins Edmund was holding on to to keep the huge beast from charging up the steps to greet her.
"It's a stallion," Conall protested as they reached the bottom of the steps. "Ladies usually ride mares."
"Aye. Well, she rides him well, and the stubborn bastard'll no' let anyone else on his back so I gave him to her two years ago," her father explained as Claray slipped her hand from Conall's to move to the horse and give him a soothing hug. The moment she touched his neck and leaned her head on him, the horse calmed, rested his head on her shoulder and raised his front leg to hook his foreleg around one of her calves in his version of a hug.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf

“The thunder of the other riders loud in her ears, Claray didn't hesitate, but threw herself protectively to her knees in front of the wolf, her arms instinctively going around him, lest any of the men thought to attack the beautiful creature. Of course, the wolf thought this a fine game and promptly started licking the side of her face, her head and shoulder and anything he could reach, making happy little whining sounds of greeting as he did. At which point, Stubborn Bastard decided he wasn't to be left out and started to nibble and lick at the back of her head as well.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf

“Yer uncle said as how it looked a fine beast, and MacFarlane said 'twas a stubborn bastard, and in fact its name is Stubborn Bastard because they got so used to calling it that when it would no' let anyone ride it. Claimed he was thinkin' the beast a waste o' horseflesh and was considerin' killin' him when his daughter, yer lady wife, took an interest in him. He said she tamed it with a few soft words and an apple or two, and the next thing he knew it was following her around the bailey like a dog and letting her ride on him.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf