The carriage's rocking was constant, almost hypnotic, like a heartbeat in the dark. The wheels groaned on the damp gravel of the road, and the steady trot of the horses echoed like drums in the early morning silence. The night chill filled the air, biting, but the soft crackle of the torches mounted outside the carriage cast golden flashes, painting dancing shadows in the narrow interior.
Esther, motionless in her seat, kept her eyes fixed on the window. The landscape looked like a grayscale painting: twisted trees, bare as skeletons, leaned in the wind; dead fields stretched as far as the darkness allowed. It was as if the world itself were in mourning.
But none of this bothered her as much as his presence.
Damon.
