The cold wind blew in gusts, dragging snowflakes onto the road, like white veils dissolving into the air. The sky remained gray and heavy, and the sound of hooves on broken ice was the only constant cadence in that lonely landscape. Ester rode ahead, her dark cloak swaying like a living shadow. Her chestnut horse followed obediently, steadily, indifferent to the biting cold.
Damon followed behind, atop the black horse that snorted with every step, restless, yet always responding only to him. The sensation was still strange. Riding that beast felt like a contradiction: there was raw power and savagery in every muscle, but also a silent acceptance that connected him to the animal. Almost as if they shared the same blood.
The silence had lasted for more than half an hour. Impatiently, Damon licked his parched lips and adjusted his spear on his shoulder. His eyes wandered to the horizon, to the endless road, and finally decided to break the void.
