On the first day, the grey stallion danced like wind across the field, his hooves spattering the wanderer with mud. What insolent beggar is this to claim the Lord of Horses?
On the second day, curiosity delayed his flight. What manner of man lies beneath those rags?
At the next day’s dawn the grey one spoke to him in a strange tongue, courteous and rich with reverence for all growing things. Brother, I have need of your strength and speed. Will you not lend them to me?
Shadowfax bowed his neck before the man’s deep eyes. Brother, you may ride.