Harry wound his hand tightly into the mane of the nearest Thestral, placed a foot on a stump nearby and scrambled clumsily on to the horse's silken back.
One evening, Gillian and I, who were allowed to walk on the plains, we met a young lion, a young male lion, two years old, little bits of tufty hair of his mane growing, utterly curious.
He once told me he always kept a horse with a flaxen mane and tail because he liked to see one run in the moonlight with his mane arched high and his tail floating on the wind.