Lush green meadows greeted Orwick's company with leisurely bobbing thistle and yarrow that peeked out from behind the tall grasses that housed them. Their earthy aroma had happily accompanied the knights as they rode along. Orwick said a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess for the change from the stench of the city. They had been riding for several hours now, passing through several villages and hamlets wherein the residents familiar to the Capital knights smiled and greeted them in passing. The warming light of the day combined with the knowledge of the journey ahead did significant work to raise Orwick's spirits.
Knowing he was to spend the moons of Frostfall in the south of the Kingdom, rather than guarding the streets of Rivengarde, put Orwick's mind at ease. Here he was assigned to a mission of grave importance, but the situation at hand felt more to him like a vacation. He thought of returning home to the village of Willowgate - he had not even returned to Jättemor Duchy since he had been transferred to Rivengarde nearly four years' past. He wondered what - if anything - had changed in that time. He had attempted to discuss the matter with Sir Derich, but the pensive knight had little interest in the way of conversational skill, answering whatever questions he could with a low grunt or slight movement of the head or wrist.
Orwick glanced behind him, where Sir Barney was eagerly chatting with Sir Jonah, who appeared unable to get a single word in otherwise. Despite this, the greenhorn knight appeared in good spirits, his youthful face lit up by the exuberance of being a part of an official assignment of the Crown. While Sir Derich rode slightly behind and to the left of Orwick, who had naturally led the party, Sir Lawrence made up Orwick's rear right flank. Unfortunately, the senior knight was not much up for idle conversation either, unless it was relating to official matters that felt more of a chore for Orwick to discuss than anything. Early on in their journey, Lawrence had made the suggestion to stow away their plate armor until they were several days south, so as to not draw suspicion from any locals they might pass along the route.
This suggestion was quickly met with grateful acceptance from the rest of the party, Orwick included. It was logical, as Orwick hardly expected there to be danger this close to Rivengarde, and though Witherwind was at its height, the season still held a lot of heat during the days that would make travelling south in such hefty armor impractical. So the matter was settled quickly, and Lawrence had not spoken since. Barney let out a boisterous laugh at a story he was telling that Orwick did not quite catch. He sighed to himself, wishing that his companions would dare to be a little more social; they would be travelling for many moons in each other's company, after all.
Glancing down at the silken sheen of Beau's freshly-brushed mane, he gave the mount an affectionate pat, which the horse returned with a quiet snort as he strode along the path before him.
"A beautiful stallion, may I ask his name?"
Orwick nodded, straightening in the saddle.
"Beau," He said, "Black Beau is what the traders had named him, on account of his coat is what they had told me. Though I always imagined that's just the sort of thing someone adds to a name to make it sound more imposing. I've always just called him Beau."
"And is he?" Queried Miss Erisane, "Imposing, I mean?"
This friendly newcomer studied the horse with a look of mixed curiosity and caution. Orwick observed the young woman with captivated amusement.
"Not a bit," The knight responded with a wry grin, "He hails from the hot-blooded stock of Draymoor County warhorses - finest and fittest for battle in the Kingdom - and it seems his blood is more lukewarm than boiling."
Miss Erisane giggled warmly at this; dissolving all previous apprehension towards the animal, she leaned over in the saddle to graze her fingertips against his flank. Orwick watched as a curl of crimson-tinted hair rebelliously danced in front of the woman's face for a moment, before she sat upright and tucked the strand back behind her ear. Orwick felt the heat rise beneath his collar, and hoped he was not catching a fever.
"How long have you been riding for, Sir Orwick?" Miss Erisane's emerald irises shimmered as if asking questions of him on their own.
"My elder sister, Annalise, taught me when I was just a boy," Orwick recounted, "she had learned from our father and passed it on to me. Once I had been squired, I would practice every chance I could get with Sirs Alwyn and Nathaniel."
Orwick was complimented by the Lady's attentiveness, before considering to ask her the same so as to not seem impolite. It turned out that Lamira Erisane had not grown up a rider, or really around horses much at all. Though she had picked up some skill as she grew older - how old she was at present Orwick could only guess at, though she couldn't have reached adulthood more than five years' past - she still required a mild-mannered gaited horse that would not wear her body too harshly on long journeys.
As they spoke, the company rode leisurely through Yarlowe village. Several farm hands were busy reaping the last of the season's harvest in the fields on the outskirts of the sleepy settlement. Miss Erisane paused the conversation to watch a laborer as he swung a glimmering scythe through a row of golden wheat.
"Is your home similar to this village, Sir Orwick?" She asked, still watching the worker as they passed.
"Willowgate? Somewhat I suppose. More forested and less fields, and the folk focus more on the crafts, but it is just as quiet."
Miss Erisane sighed. "I do wish I'd had the opportunity to spend more time in the countryside. My family had jumped city to city since the day we'd arrived in Regganor, when I was just a little girl."
Orwick blinked in surprise, "Not many you hear of travelling to the Kingdom these days."
She smiled in response, "Back then my family had good reason. My grandfather was a brilliant man, requested to teach as an academy instructor, and my father was hoping to follow the same path. Unfortunately, such a destiny was not written for him, and he instead made his earnings as a street hawker."
Orwick smiled ruefully, "Something our father's have in common, then."
"He was a vendor as well?"
"If only," Orwick shook his head, looking to the road in front of them as Yarlowe village passed behind, "Every Danheim has served as a Duchy knight, but my father never made it as far in the ranks. War really took the fight out of him."
Miss Erisane nodded understandingly, "The Rebellion is what cost my grandfather his job as well."
They rode together with thoughtful silence between them, save for the chirping of birdsong and odd interjection of clamorous conversation from Barney. At last, Orwick worked up the courage to ask the question that had been pressing on his mind.
"I know that it is no place of mine to inquire as to where we are going, and so I will not do so. But if you are aware of the route we are to take, I was wondering if I could be so selfish as to ask if there is any possibility for us to stop in Willowgate along the way? I should like to see after my sister, if at all possible."
Miss Erisane pursed her lips. Orwick watched anxiously as he witnessed her painting a mental map of their journey in her head. At last, she nodded slowly.
"Our destination is to the East of Ashenmarsh, in Duchy Fharsält, so it shouldn't hurt to take a pause in a friendly place."
Orwick was surprised at the relief he felt, sighing and grinning in a manner more akin to a boyish squire than a knight.
"I should like to see your home anyhow, perhaps your sister wouldn't mind instructing me on how to ride properly? I have never quite gotten the knack for it." She jested as she adjusted herself in the saddle, as she had done with more frequency as the hours passed.
In that moment, Orwick felt himself immensely grateful for the company of such a beautiful and kindhearted companion. An idea occurred to him that he would not very much mind introducing Lamira Erisane to his sister at all, and wondered once again if he was not coming down with a fever at such a strange thought.