The road was calm. The wind had died down a bit, allowing the sound of hooves and the crunch of snow beneath them to fill the space like a repetitive, hypnotic music. The sun hadn’t yet broken through the gray clouds, but there was a steady light, enough to reveal the white-capped pine fields on either side.
For a while, Damon allowed himself to simply ride in silence. The sensation of strength beneath the black horse still impressed him, and the bracelet on his wrist pulsed as if it were part of his skin. He caught himself touching the metal occasionally, absently, as if it called to him.
Ester rode ahead, straight and steady, never breaking stride. Her dark cloak made her an almost stern figure against the white snow.
Suddenly, she raised her hand, a dry, deliberate gesture. Damon frowned, pulling on the reins to slow his pace.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"There’s a group ahead," she said coldly, her voice thick with conviction. "Let’s go slowly. Stay behind me."
Damon obeyed without argument. He felt the black horse snort, as if it didn’t like the slowing down, but the animal held back at the touch of his leg. The tension in the air changed—the silence that had previously been only that of the road now seemed more attentive, as if the world had stopped to listen.
They advanced a few meters slowly, turning a curve between tall pines that arched over the road, forming a natural arch. The sound came first: human voices, nervous, excited. Then the scene unfolded.
A parked carriage occupied half the road. The vehicle was large, ornate, with dark wood details and wrought ironwork. But it was tilted, one of its front wheels broken, sunk in the snow. Beside it, a man in simple armor, probably a guard or private soldier, tried in vain to lift the axle with a makeshift lever.
At the forefront of the scene, almost as if she were the commander of the chaos, stood a girl. She was no more than fifteen. Her long, bright red hair fell in unruly waves over her shoulders, contrasting with her pale skin. She wore luxurious winter clothes—a thick, dark blue wool coat embroidered with silver details, leather gloves, and tall boots. The fabric was clearly of good quality, made for nobles, not common travelers.
And her mouth wouldn’t stop.
"HOW is this possible?!" she screamed, her high-pitched voice reverberating through the pines. "I told you clearly we should have changed the wheels in Riverwood, but no! You insisted they were good enough! And now? Now we’re in the middle of nowhere, in the cold, with the snow rising, and my carriage is... is..." she threw up her hands in theatrical despair, "ridiculous!"
The soldier beside her, sweating despite the cold, tried to remain calm.
"Miss, please maintain your composure... we’re already working on solving..."
"Solving?" The girl gave a short, sarcastically tinged laugh. "With that piece of rotten wood you’re using as leverage? How exactly are you going to solve it? Are you going to pray that the boards straighten themselves?"
The man closed his eyes for a second, clearly taking a deep breath to keep from exploding.
"Miss, if yelling doesn’t help, maybe..."
"Maybe you’ll shut up!" she interrupted, stamping her foot in the snow like a disgruntled child. "You don’t understand! I have to get to Wintervale before sunset! My father will kill me if he finds out I was late because of... incompetence!"
The last words echoed through the freezing air. The soldier lowered his head, resigned, lacking the courage to respond.
Damon, who was watching the scene from a few feet away, pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. The contrast was grotesque: the wintry scenery, the lonely and dangerous road, the echoes of bloody battles that still echoed in his mind... and there, a spoiled young woman, throwing a tantrum because her carriage wheel had broken.
He couldn’t resist. He took a deep breath and commented softly,
"A spoiled little brat."
Ester, who until then had been observing everything with the same icy calm as always, turned her head toward him. Her blue eyes scanned him for a moment. Then, surprisingly, she sighed.
The sound was almost imperceptible, but it was there.
Damon arched his eyebrow in surprise. "Wait... you too?"
She didn’t answer immediately. She simply returned her gaze to the scene and, after a few seconds, let out another short sigh.
Damon smirked. "I never thought we’d agree on anything."
"Don’t flatter yourself," Ester replied dryly, but her tone was lighter than usual. "She’s just... annoying."
The soldier in front tried again to force the carriage’s axle, but the wood creaked and sank deeper into the snow. The girl continued to give orders as if she were the general of an imaginary army.
"No, not like that! More strength! It’s impossible for a man your size to lift a wheel! Don’t you eat? Don’t you train? My father told me you were competent! Competent!"
"My lady, please..."
"Silence!"
Damon chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, even desperate bandits seem more tolerable to me than that."
Ester gave him a cold look, but didn’t argue.
For a moment, they remained motionless, simply watching the spectacle. The wind carried the young woman’s voice as if she were the only living thing on that stretch of road. It was almost... surreal.
Finally, Damon leaned forward in the saddle, looking at Ester with an amused smile.
"So, what do we do? Help the little brat... or let her thrash around until she loses her voice?"
Ester didn’t answer immediately. She continued to observe the scene with an analytical eye, as if weighing risks and advantages, assessing not only the girl and the soldier, but everything around her—the condition of the carriage, the road, the possibility of ambush.
Then she spoke slowly:
"First, we observe. People like that... rarely travel alone."
Damon blinked, his smile fading. "Hm. Good observation."
He adjusted his spear on his shoulder, his eyes scanning the surrounding pines. The cold didn’t bother him, but instinct told him Esther was right. A luxurious carriage, a young noblewoman, a ragged guard... something was wrong.
And as he thought this, the girl’s shrill voice cut through the snow again:
"I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! We’re still standing still!"
Damon ran his hand over his face and sighed deeply. "Oh, my..."