The sun was beginning to set behind the white peaks of the Starkhorn as Deorla stepped into the small fenced paddock behind her secluded home. Firebryn stood there already, brushing down one of the four horses that had belonged to Deorla—now well-groomed, well-fed, and visibly pleased to have their mistress home again.
“You kept them in fine shape,” Deorla murmured, trailing her hand over the flank of a dark bay mare.
