"𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘵?"
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂જ⁀➴
Born into servitude, Zayd finds his place as the stablehand for the illustrious Fitzwilliam family. It is there that he forges a...
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The morning air was crisp with the scent of fresh grass and earth. A grand procession of horsemen moved through the open meadows, all adorned in the rich greens and browns of the hunt. The Duke donned a hunting jacket of the deepest emerald green over a crisp, white shirt, his hair gleaming like spun gold in the morning glow. Flanked by his entourage, he rode alongside the Baron, the host of the stately outing.
The arrival of a distinguished guest was always an occasion for a grand hunt, a cherished tradition that celebrated both the art of the chase and the bonds of houses. It was not merely a sport but a pageant of nobility, showcasing the skill and grace of nobles who had been meticulously trained and honed in the arts of horsemanship and hunting from a young age.
The Duke had brought with him a retinue of horses, each more splendid than the last, their coats gleaming and muscles rippling under the morning sun. Beside them, the finest hounds bounded eagerly, their sleek forms a blur of speed and agility as they kept pace with the noble procession. It was quite a sight to behold, a spectacle that would have left even the most jaded of observers breathless.
That morning, the true embodiment of joy might have been found in Adelia. While she loathed formal affairs and stifling traditions, the hunt was a different matter entirely. It held a cherished place in her heart, allowing her to openly indulge in her passions for riding and archery. What made it even sweeter was that no one could say anything about it. There were no disapproving remarks, not even from the Baroness.
Among the gathering, she flittered about with the grace of a sparrow, weaving circles around the distinguished company. Her heart sang with exhilaration, her fingers itching to draw her bow and take aim at the quarry that lay hidden within the forest's depths.
As they rode, the Baron's booming voice echoed over the fields, speaking incessantly of the estate's bounty. "Ah, the game here is plentiful, Your Grace. Pheasants as far as the eye can see, and the deer – oh, they boast a richness in their flesh, a result of feeding on the wild herbs and berries that flourish in our woodlands. You'll not find such taste elsewhere, I can assure you!" His enthusiasm seemed boundless when compared to the more measured demeanour of the Duke.
Isabella rode alongside her betrothed, finding it difficult to maintain her poise with the lively presence of her younger sister. With her chestnut locks streaming behind her like a river in full flow, Adelia's prowess in the saddle was unmistakable. Though no stranger to riding herself, Isabella's comfort lay not in the reins of a horse, but in the gentle pages of a book and the strings of her instruments.
"Gee!" Adelia yelled to her mare, urging the shiny black steed faster, lapping circles around the crowd as Isabella's blue eyes followed. "Gee up!"
The Baron turned to the Duke, a nostalgic gleam in his eye as memories of days gone by flooded his thoughts. "Your father and I traversed these very paths countless times. He was a formidable hunter, a man of great skill and honour. I miss him dearly."
