After a couple of hours of steady riding, and with the familiar winding trails of the mountains ahead, I gave Angus the freedom to choose the best path. He knew these mountains better than I ever could. The chill in the air clung stubbornly to the land, lingering longer than I was accustomed to. It was as if the cold had woven itself into the very fabric of the earth, refusing to let go. Here and there, a few stubborn trees still clung to their leaves, though they were a strange shade of yellowish-brown, coated in a layer of frost. For the most part, however, the branches were bare, stripped of any sign of life, save for the occasional bud waiting to bloom once the last traces of winter had faded.
It was the ninth night of our journey through the rugged lands of Pontheugh. As the sun began to dip behind the mountains, the faint glow of Lancaster's lanterns finally pierced the gloom, beckoning us toward safety. I let out a long, exhausted sigh, the weight of days spent in the saddle sinking into my bones. A soft smile crossed my face at the thought of a warm bed—no more lying on the damp ground, with the smell of mildew in the air and the wet soil seeping into my clothes.
Angus's hooves pounded the earth beneath us, the sound echoing through the night as we hurried towards the town's stables. I was too tired and sore to notice the curious stares of the townsfolk as they watched us pass. It didn't matter—nothing mattered but reaching that stable and resting.
After paying the exorbitant fee for Angus's stall, a price that seemed almost criminal for a single night's stay, I led him to his temporary home. The stall smelled of hay and the earthy scent of fresh straw, and I went to work removing his leather harness, wiping down his coat, and cleaning his hooves, feeling the familiar rhythm of grooming soothe the tension from my own muscles.
"Ma'am?" A voice called softly from behind me. I turned to see a young stable boy standing at the open gate, watching me with wide, curious eyes. "You don't have to do that," he said nervously. "I'll take care of him for you."
I shook my head, smiling softly at his offer. "It's no trouble, lad," I replied. "If you want to, you can grab some bedding for him. He'll appreciate it."
The boy nodded eagerly and set to work, forking piles of soft straw into Angus's stall. I watched him for a moment, admiring his energy despite the late hour, then reached into my pocket and handed him a copper coin. "Thank you kindly, lad."
As the boy busied himself, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. A hot meal and a warm bed would be my rewards for the long journey, but I couldn't ignore the exhaustion that had settled into my bones. My body ached with every movement, every stretch, yet my mind couldn't shut down. I glanced at the boy, who was busy arranging the bedding, and a thought crossed my mind.
"Oh, before you go," I called out. "Where can I find a good meal around here, and a bed for the night?"
The boy paused in his work, turning towards me. "The Golden Monkey Inn, ma'am," he said with a smile. "Best beef barley stew in these parts, and they've got bedding along with meals."
I nodded, the name of the inn ringing a faint memory. "Thank you," I said, offering him another smile as I handed him an apple for Angus. He took the fruit from my hand, his grateful eyes brightening.
I left the stable, feeling the cool evening air settle around me. My footsteps took me toward the inn, the scent of wood smoke and cooking meat reaching me before I even entered. When I stepped inside, the warm, earthy atmosphere of the tavern wrapped around me like a comforting embrace. It was bustling, filled with the chatter of locals enjoying their evening, the clinking of tankards, and the occasional burst of laughter.
I scanned the room, searching for a spot to sit, but my gaze was drawn to a nearby group of men. Their thick, unruly beards and broad frames were typical of the Lancaster inhabitants, their laughter punctuated by the occasional rough shove between them. I was about to turn away when I caught a fragment of their conversation.
YOU ARE READING
Through Smoke and Ashes
Fantasy*Undergoing editing. Half of these chapters were written when I was a child.* Book One: There is no prophecy. There is no tell-tale legend. There is no scripture written down in a book or a hidden cave. There is only the spoken word of the Gods. Dar...
