The forest was alive with the sounds of creatures preparing for cold weather ahead. Belle picked her way through the fallen leaves of scarlet, bright orange, and citrus colors, their already decaying kin crunching beneath them under the weight of her hooves. A light breeze stirred the fine hairs that had come loose from her pins, and Kit felt more alive than she had for half a moon’s phase.
Reeve rode behind her, his horse tromping through the leaves, not as delicate as sweet Belle. A large chestnut stallion, named Red—clearly a suggestion from Reeve’s grandfather who preferred obvious names—the horse did exactly as his rider instructed, which was no surprise to Kit since Reeve had proven himself a horse whisperer the first time she’d visited the barn with him.
