Loki takes a quiet, shy horse, one that's shivering with energy and dancing on her hooves, nervous and pulling against the servants who hold her. He runs fingers through her mane and murmurs into her neck, low, soothing, until she settles and pushes her nose into his hair.

He mounts her fluidly, with the grace of long training, long experience. Gathers the reins in his hand but holds them loosely, guiding her with touch and urging instead.

He cuts a regal, graceful figure on her. Eat your heart out, ladies.