Cool air wrapped around them as soon as they stepped outside. Their footsteps echoed against the cobblestones. Rouis opened his mouth, closed it again, then ran his tongue over his canine. Beside him, Ambre stared at an invisible point.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  They reached a stable at the edge of the city and pushed the door open. The smell of hay mixed with leather enveloped them. She pressed her lips together, her nostrils flaring. The floor covered in a layer of straw muffled the sound of their steps. Ambre lifted the hem of her dress.

  “We could have found better,” she grumbled.

  Rouis stopped in front of a brown stallion. A white star marked its forehead, and when the horse turned its head, their gazes met. The animal snorted, flicking its ears. The stablehand, an old man with a weathered face, approached with a limp. His worn cloak hung from his shoulders.

  “Solid and built for long journeys. A good horse. He’s got heart,” he said, patting the stallion’s neck.

  The animal stepped closer and sniffed Rouis’s palm. Its warm breath brushed against his skin, and he stroked the top of its back.

  “Three gold coins,” the stablehand announced.

  “Does he have a name?” Rouis asked.

  “Well… the previous owner called him Arrow, though I’d say that was more out of irony than anything else. He’s fast, sure, when he feels like it, but he’s mostly a beast of endurance. You just have to accept his temperament. Stubborn as a mule, but once he takes to you, he’ll carry you to the ends of the world without fail.”

  “He’ll do,” Rouis said.

  He untied his coin purse and took out the coins.

  “Good beast. Take care of him.”

  He gave the horse’s mane one last pat.

  Rouis took the reins and led the animal out of the stable.

  “You’re joking, right? That horse is enormous. How am I supposed to get up there?”

  He swung into the saddle, then held out a hand to Ambre.

  “Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen a carriage? Or, I don’t know… something more comfortable?” she said, crossing her arms.

  “Get on,” Rouis replied.

  She grumbled, but finally grabbed his wrist. Her foot slipped against the stirrup, and she pitched forward, clinging to Rouis.

  “I suppose elegance will have to wait,” she muttered.

  He pressed his heels against the horse’s flanks, and the animal surged forward.

  “You could warn me before taking off!” she exclaimed.

  “And you could stop complaining,” he shot back.

  They rode through the city, leaving behind the bustle of its lively streets, then passed the last buildings and moved onto a dirt road.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  “Damn it… this cursed saddle is torture, and my legs are killing me,” she complained.

  “You can always get down and walk,” Rouis replied.

  Tall grasses lined the path, swaying in the breeze, while the first shadows of the forest took shape on the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky in golden hues that clung to the leaves.

  “If we fall, it’ll be your fault,” she said.

  “Then hold on tight,” Rouis replied.

  The scent of humus and damp wood filled the clearing. Rouis pulled on the reins, and Arrow came to a halt. He jumped down from the saddle.

  “Do you need help?”

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “We’re going to eat and sleep. Now get down,” he said, loosening the straps.

  Ambre scanned the surroundings: the forest stretched as far as the eye could see.

  “Here?” she choked.

  “Yes. Here.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “You couldn’t find somewhere more civilized?”

  He held out his hand.

  “Get down.”

  The moment her feet touched the ground, she wobbled.

  “It’s unstable. And dirty,” she grumbled, shaking her dress to brush off blades of grass and dust.

  “Welcome to the forest.”

  She shot him a glare.

  “Go gather some wood for the fire,” he added.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Branches. For the fire. Unless you’d rather sleep in the dark and the cold?”

  With an irritated sigh, she turned on her heel and walked away. Beneath her boots, dead leaves protested with a sharp crunch. Soon, her shadow vanished among the trees. Rouis tied Arrow to a trunk. The stallion shook his head and snorted before Rouis patted his neck.

  “It’s all right, big guy. We all need some rest.”

  Arrow turned his head toward him and pawed at the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  “You can be difficult all you want, but you’ll be glad not to be galloping all night.”

  He arranged stones in a circle before pulling out his flint. A spark flew, then another. Finally, a small flame caught on the tinder, devouring the dry material until the fire grew. He glanced at Arrow, who was busy chewing on blades of grass.

  “If you find something better, I’m all ears. But for now, this will do,” he said.

  Arrow flicked an ear.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He pulled a piece of dried meat and a handful of wheat grains from his pack, grinding them into flour. He laid the meat on a heated flat stone and waited for the fat to sizzle before pouring in water from his flask and adding the crushed grains. Slowly, the mixture thickened.

  Ambre reappeared, her arms loaded with firewood, which she dropped beside the fire. With the back of her hand, she wiped the sweat beading on her forehead.

  “There,” she said.

  Rouis stirred the mixture, then poured a portion into a bowl.

  “Here.”

  Ambre pushed the bowl away.

  “I’m not eating that,” she said carefully.

  She waved a hand in front of her nose.

  “As you wish.”

  He settled down by the fire and took his first bite; the grains crunched beneath his teeth. Arrow snorted, striking the ground with a hoof.

  “Hungry too, are you?” he muttered.

  The horse huffed, shaking its head.

  Ambre remained standing there, arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed on the flames. Once he was full, Rouis pulled a sleeping bag from his pack and handed it to Ambre.

  “And you?” she asked.

  “I don’t need one,” he replied.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself,” she said.

  “You’ve never slept on cool grass under the open sky?” he said with a laugh.

  A flush rose to his cheeks. Ambre set the sleeping bag down near the embers.

  “Turn around,” she ordered.

  Rouis turned, and no sooner had he looked away than a soft bundle struck him in the back.

  “I told you not to look!” she shouted.

  “I thought you were done,” he replied.

  “Liar!”

  Rouis walked away. Aside from their own footprints, no other presence made itself known. When he returned, Ambre was lying in the sleeping bag, her face partly hidden beneath the fabric. Her eyes followed the flickering reflections of the flames.

  “Aren’t you cold?” he asked.

  Ambre shook her head.

  “Tell me a story.”

  “I’m not your storyteller,” he replied.

  Tears traced paths down her cheeks. He let out a sigh.

  “Fine. The first time I broke a jaw, I was twelve or thirteen. I was with a friend… a real menace. We’d gone into an underground tunnel to steal jewelry.”

  “Are you still in contact with her?” she asked.

  “She’s dead.”

  “Aren’t you sad?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  “You don’t have a heart.”

  “So, we were in the tunnel, we’d just stolen the jewelry—”

  “This story doesn’t interest me anymore,” Ambre cut in.

  She turned onto her side, turning her back to him.

  “Good night,” she said.

  An exaggerated snore escaped her lips, followed by another, then a third. Rouis lay down, his arms crossed behind his head. His gaze drifted up to the sky, where the stars shone brightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper amulet. Its surface shimmered between brown and green.