Doe clad the grassy fields around us in a thin layer of white the next morning when we departed with our bags and coinage in tow. I sat atop the white mare who had been named Chantilly after a type of lace for her color while Caleb rode on the chestnut mare, Persephone after the Greek goddess who ruled over the Underworld.
We had slowed to a walk a few hours later, my rear throbbing from having been seated for so long. I swayed back and forth along with Chantilly’s movements.
“The town is half a day’s ride from here” Caleb informed, jerking his head in the direction we were travelling. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the black ink that resided there, his hair having come somewhat undone from the ride. Bakewell wasn’t that far inland from Crescent Coast but it felt lik
