A few hours into our journey, Ithuriel brings the carriage to a steady halt, veering the horses into a clearing among thickets of undergrowth. I straighten up abruptly, suddenly painfully aware of the crick in my neck. I groan.
"I'm going to feed the horses," he affirms, raising his voice so he knows I have heard him, peering over his shoulder with a nod. Stretching, I push back a few wisps of hair that had fallen out of place.
"I'm going to feed myself," comes my grumbling reply, punctuated with a drowsy yawn. "Do you have any food?" I call over to Ithuriel, who has already promptly made his way to the front of the carriage to unhook the horses.
