As the rays of dawn stretched across the city and into the openings of the stable. Aethon’s coat shimmered like molten gold when bathed in the glow of the rising sun.
It was the best Thessalian strain with the Arabian mix. Every line and curve on its balanced frame spoke of its strength and agility. Licking on the servant’s face, Matea was abruptly pulled out of her deep sleep. The soft pile of hays in that stable ware way more comfortable compared to the one back in Syracuse. She immediately noticed the difference as the fresh and pleasant scent of dried grass carried by their hays filled the barn.
Pulling herself out of that pile of comfy hays, Matea took the saddle and fitted it on the stallion, getting ready for their next journey. She was still tired and feeling heavy in her head.
