The War and Other Stories

     Helen’s horse color was of pure white, absolutely perfect to the eye.  When the sunlight danced upon it, there was a natural sheen no other horsewoman could equal.  The glorious blonde hair with platinum highlights upon her head was quite long, but she wore her hair up, giving her a regal appearance.  Her face was one of striking loveliness, with a touch of haughtiness in her sky blue eyes.  These captivated if not enslaved a horseman’s attention, yet in its own way disquieted him.  Only the most confident of centaurs—and satyrs, their upper bodies human, too—could look straight into her eyes, though every horseman wanted to.  Her lips were unusually full and pouting, her cheeks rose-colored by nature.

     Helen’s human body was as sensuous as her horse’s one.  When she appeared for the lottery, she wore a bright red garment that clung tightly over her human flesh, revealing her neck and arms, but baring her navel.  Her skin was fair, wondrously fair, and without a single blemish.  Her hands were so graceful they appeared in themselves to be works of art.  Her walk was so feminine that every step announced she was a horsewoman.