Bab 691: King's Cloak

Tamson Smythe rode a prize war stallion named Blackmane; I walked only slightly before him on foot. <1>

In the sense that alternating ten minutes of walking with ten of jogging, called a forced march by soldiers, is just normal walking.

"Why are you slowing down every time my horse starts getting his cantering breath?" Tamson asked.

<Because you're an ignorant asshole, perhaps?> Blackmane added.

"Because it takes ten minutes to regain the point of fatigue to power my sprint for another ten minute charge." I said. "Should we encounter bandits, or beasts, or monsters, I want that fatigue available for combat."

He snorted. "I am more than capable of handling such minor threats. Just tell me where the Etruscien sisters are, and I'll go ahead to resolve this."

"And that," I said, "is precisely why I won't do any such thing."