November 10, 1444 of the Imperial Calendar was a rare sunny day.
The morning mist was blown away by the bright red sun among the mountains, and the sky was as blue as freshly dyed silk, smooth and clear.
The sky cloaked the ring-shaped mountains of the Blackbone Marsh, and below lay the Joan of Arc Castle.
The Joan of Arc Castle seemed like a gray patch, sewn onto the pale yellow grasslands by the white canal.
And the refugee camp was the stitching of this patch.
In the open space outside the camp, Horn exhaled a breath of mist tinged with orange by the sunlight, and immediately shivered.
The weather was getting colder.
However, Jeanne, who was always an early riser, didn't come to supervise Horn's knight breathing exercises this morning, which surprised him a bit.
Was it because the cold weather made her sleep in? Or was she angry because I forgot to announce our engagement yesterday?
Standing up from the grass, a creek flowed across Horn's line of sight.
Gray-white stones paved the creek's path, with the clear blue water drifting like smoke over them.
After wiping the sweat off with a warm towel, Horn walked to the creek's edge. He knelt down on the soft sand and immersed his face in the water.
The icy creek water smoothly brushed across Horn's cheeks, causing his nose to quickly turn red.
This likewise calmed Horn's restless mind, as if only at this moment he wouldn't be lost in pointless thoughts.
Not until the creek water made his face begin to burn did he finally lift his head.
He gazed at his reflection in the water, a young man with black hair and dark eyes, yet the face from his past life became increasingly hard to recall, even growing strange.
When the water surface calmed, he realized the reflection wasn't just his own; there was also a shadow.
"Jeanne?" Horn looked up blankly, staring at Jeanne in front of him; if it weren't for the familiarity of late, he would have thought he'd mistaken her for someone else.
The girl hadn't tied her long black hair up as usual; the radiant strands cascaded down her back, with the tips tinged with bits of gold.
At this moment, Jeanne was wearing a black silk gown, her smooth shoulders and chest veiled by sheer fabric, with a black-purple edged short cape tied under her collarbone extending to the elbows.
"How do I look? Pretty?" Jeanne looked down somewhat embarrassed, "Sister Qianqian dressed me in this outfit."
"Only a blind person would think otherwise." Standing up and looking at the girl before him, Horn voiced the truth from his heart impulsively.
Morning light hit her profile, as if piercing through her blush, radiating like a luminous jade.
"We're leaving tomorrow, right?"
"Can I ask for a day off? I've been staying at the camp these days, and haven't explored the surroundings yet."
"Of course, let those child soldiers handle some things."
"Then, brother, could you take me around this place?"
Jeanne reached out to Horn, her face redder than the sun above.
The horses galloped across the prairie road, sparse trees stood sentinel-like on the yellow-green plains.
Birds took flight from the fields, landing on the scarecrow's head, in the dilapidated grass huts and wooden houses; refugees and beggars slept or lay dead on the door panels.
Horn and Jeanne rose and fell with their horses.
Given the mass of refugee mercenaries gathered within Joan of Arc Castle, and the robbers lurking in the folds of the city,
Horn felt that the wilds were somewhat safer, so he brought Jeanne over here.
The two proceeded along the endless plains, crossing the stone bridge over a small river, walking past roadside holy images and abandoned churches.
Further ahead, the road was almost overgrown with wild grass, rabbit holes and field mouse burrows dotted the dry yellow plain.
Horn and Jeanne alternated between horseback riding and dismounting, leading their horses through church ruins, and chasing sparrows flying low.
At first, perhaps the black silk gown restricted Jeanne, she leaned sideways, merely trotting on horseback.
But Horn rode his horse around her left side to pat her shoulder, and then circled to her right to flick her forehead.
Eventually, this finally annoyed Jeanne; disregarding the gown, she brandished her horsewhip, catching up to Horn and snatching his whip away.
"Come on." Jeanne waved the horsewhip in her hand, "Catch up to me and you can have it."
Horn clumsily urged his horse, following Jeanne.
His riding skills were much poorer than Jeanne's; the felt hat looked just within reach one moment, then swiftly out of grasp the next.
On the golden long plains, Horn and Jeanne chased each other over river banks and paths,
until Jeanne realized her gown would crumple from this, thus slowing her horse to let Horn catch up to her.
Horn glanced at Jeanne's stomach; Jeanne's once composed face instantly flushed with embarrassment.
Honestly, since childhood, the two had witnessed each other's stomachs rumbling countless times, but Jeanne, in front of Horn, felt an unspeakable shyness.
"What are you staring at? You can't look, can't listen, cover your ears!" Jeanne said somewhat hotly.
Horn then realized it was already past noon.
"Alright, you stay here and keep watch, I'll get something to eat."
Tying the two horses by the road, Jeanne gathered some dry leaves and twigs to start a fire, while Horn grabbed a stick, sharpened the tip with his longsword, and dashed to the creek.
Jeanne's stomach began growling for the third time by the time Horn returned, carrying two plump fish with a grass rope.