Mishio Massima (“maximal mission”) is a horse - but not a fluid timetravel-wise Ranyhyn with a lustrous coat and long, graceful limbs, nor a beauteous pastel alicorn princess with a rainbow mane and iridescent wings. He does not even flaunt the honor of strutting onwards as a gallant knight’s proud destrier, clad in brocade horse-curtains and a gold-shot harness. No, this simple fellow is but a moth-eaten, scowling dobbin, born with a shovel-shaped head and a squat, graceless build. Worse yet, any unfortunate rider will soon discover that his gait resembles that of a shopping trolley with a missing wheel, clanking and clattering its way down a boulder-strewn mountainside.
Massima’s grand mission in life consists of cropping hay, crapping ex-hay, and sometimes bearing such riders as The Ardent and Covenant. How he ever managed not to become a damp, pink smear beneath the former monstrosity with his appetite worse than that of the Worm, remains a mystery of the grandest of scales.
A somewhat sad detail, but the nag seems to deserve more description than the entire hird of Swordmainnir. Whereas the reader never discovers the color of Latebirth’s armpit hair or whether Grueburn indeed wears a lucky granite sock she has not washed for three hundred years, the sulky equine never ceases to fill a significant portion of Covenant’s awareness. Perchance the Unbeliever feels a compassioned kinship towards this cantankerous critter.