The journey to Ethring was almost a holiday for Khahaynd. Not needing to use her skills to disguise herself, Zir or Tarih, she felt overflowing with energy and expectations. Only one rider passed her, and he riding a swift bay horse, and dressed like a messenger bearing the Steward’s livery. He did not stop at the sight of a beautiful woman garbed in brown silk gown and head covering, riding a noble black mare with silver mane and tail.
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Ethring
