It's easy to swing onto the horse. Of course it's easy: Horses are like bicycles, motor cars – concepts that arise new and strange from some shared mind. They slide off again, unexamined. Smooth as the unblemished skin of her arm.

"Couldn't leave the team behind," The stallion whickers knowingly. Did it always have a horn? "Y'figure out the code?"

What code? The book's code. Of course, the code, the reason the enemy must want it.