The sun rode high in the sky, casting a golden hue upon the snow-draped landscape. The travelers, their breath visible in the crisp air, rode their steeds—a motley crew bound for the capital. The journey had been long, and anticipation hung like a shimmering veil.
"We are closer to the capital," Mizak declared, his voice buoyant.
"At long last," Melovine chimed in, her eyes alight with excitement.
Teri, ever the pragmatic one, reined in his horse. "Closer, indeed, but not yet within its walls, Lady Melovine."
Melovine shot him a playful glare. "Says the one who practiced with Prince Ivive under the moon's frosty gaze last night. I could have joined you, but the cold seeped into my very bones, so I stayed ensconced in our humble tent."
"Practicing under the snow," she continued, "were you both courting death?"
Elley, riding alongside Melovine, grinned. "Consider it a challenge, Lady Melovine. Next time, wield your whip amid the snowflakes. A true test of mettle."