The snow had already become a constant, almost hypnotic backdrop as rooftops began to appear on the horizon. They weren't large buildings, nor towers or imposing walls. Just low silhouettes of ice-covered wood, plumes of smoke escaping from chimneys, and the timid glow of torches scattered along a modest palisade.
Damon looked up.
"Is this the so-called city?" he asked wryly. "It looks more like a village forgotten by the gods."
Ester, riding ahead, maintained her impeccable posture, her blue eyes assessing every detail of the entrance. "Indeed, it's nothing more than a village. But it's a rest stop before the main road to the Ducato."
Damon's black horse snorted loudly, as if reflecting its owner's same disbelief. He chuckled softly, running his hand through its mane. "Well, as long as they have beds, I won't complain."
