18th Spring, 510 A.V.
Roaming the streets of the City was much easier from Horse's back. People paid attention to a sixteen hand stallion in a way they never would his rider, who was skinny as a shadow despite his height. Of the two, Horse was the first fed, and so he was the more substantial, but Sam didn't begrudge Horse the best of the best. They didn't have much, but they had each other.
He always hoped that nobody would notice Horse's quality underneath the road grit and the occasional snarl in his hair. Sam would've kept his equine brother in perfect condition if he only looked like the sort of young man who would own such a fine beast.
From atop Horse's back, he could see farther. Centaur-like, he felt more than himself with Horse, or more fully himself. There was no getting away from the horse-blood in his veins even with the intricate windmark that he kept carefully covered.
Attuned as he was to Horse's slightest change, he was only a beat behind the beast in sighting a diminutive Konti stepping out of a building. Only he wasn't quite sure what it was that Horse's horse sense sensed in the -- admittedly comely -- girl. He could only yelp with surprise and tighten his legs around Horse's barrel as he shifted direction and charged the white-haired witch, not responding to Sam's instinctive direction, making him look like he had no control.
Which, one supposes, he really didn't.