A sunny morning stretched across the countryside, the kind that made the air taste clean and new.
In the golden fields on either side of the dirt road, the ripened hay swayed gently, each stalk catching the sunlight until the entire plain seemed to breathe with a warm, golden shimmer.
The rhythmic thud-thud of a horse's slow, unhurried gallop echoed softly beneath them, the sound melding with the faint rustle of grass in the wind.
A beautiful woman rode with ease, her posture relaxed but elegant, her gaze drifting over the fields as if the sight itself were a balm.
In front of her, perched neatly on the saddle, was a young girl of about ten—her daughter, Stacia—her small hands resting on the pommel.
"So, how did your week go, Stacia?"
"The same," Stacia replied without looking back, her tone calm but with a trace of boredom.
