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“But what’s it doing here? Why isn’t it in Fillory?”
The Cozy Horse regarded them dumbly. It wasn’t going to tell. It flared its nostrils and gazed off over their heads in that supremely unconcerned way horses have. Quentin was pleased that it was here: he’d made a land, and the Cozy Horse’s presence seemed like a stamp of approval.
“I have a theory about this place,” Alice said. “Are you ready? I’m starting to think this land isn’t an island after all, Quentin. I think it must go all the way through. You meant to make an island, but you also made a bridge. A bridge connecting Fillory and Earth. This big fellow must have come across it to welcome us.”
She couldn’t reach its muzzle so she patted its broad shin instead. Its coat looked worn in places, like that of a well-loved toy, and from below you could see it had a big stitched seam running along its tummy.
Alice smiled at him, and he noticed it again—that slight difference.
“Were your eyes always that blue?”
“I know,” she said, “I saw it too. Do you think it’s possible that you didn’t put me all the way back? I’ve been wondering if I’ve still got a little niffin left in me after all. Just a touch. Just enough to make it interesting.”
The Cozy Horse snorted at them, impatiently now, and tossed its massive head as if to say: Enough with the chit-chat, I’ve got places to be. Are you in or are you out?
“I always wanted to ride it,” Alice said. “Where shall we go? To Fillory?”
“I don’t think so. One day. But not yet. Let’s go further.”
“Let’s.”
“I never pictured it this big,” Quentin said.
“Me neither. How the hell are we even going to get up there?”
He looked up at the Cozy Horse. It was the strangest thing, but he was looking forward to everything so much, he could hardly stand it. He never would have believed it. He never thought he would.
“You know what?” He took Alice’s hand. “Let’s fly.”
