The dawn sky met the Thames, fragile April light and river the same ghostly gray as the mare emerging from the gloom. Needles of torment spiked through Webb’s right leg as he watched the mare approach.
“Bloody hell.” He cursed the idiot who rode her and shifted his weight in the saddle. “Take heed, boy. Or you’ll have us both in the river.”
(Very unlikely that snippet will end up being the "meet" or the first six sentences, but it is what it is...for now.)
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