The girl held a long sword, a rare smile gracing her features.
"I shall follow Master's commands."
The carriage entered the official road, and the old man, having procured an old cloth from somewhere, tied it around his head and began to sing mountain songs at the top of his lungs.
"In the first month, there are no flowers to pick, alas."
"In the second month, the blooming flowers, at their peak, ah."
"In the second month, the blooming flowers, at their peak, ah."
"In the third month, peach blossoms red as the sea."
"In April, the grapevines overhead start to bloom."
A robust and resonant singing voice conveyed a sense of utmost joy, reverberating along the mountain road for a long time, urging the horses to break into a gallop.
The plot thickens.
