Mikhailis and Cerys rode into the village, their horse trotting slowly on the narrow dirt path. They were greeted by the sight of quaint cottages with stone foundations and wooden frames, each with thatched roofs and small gardens full of colorful medicinal herbs and vegetables. The village was lively, even at this early hour—women with sun-kissed skin carried woven baskets filled with freshly harvested herbs, while children with dark brown eyes chased each other around, their laughter echoing through the cobbled village square.
"So, this is the village at the easternmost edge of Silvarion Thalor," Cerys said, glancing around. She was smiling, her eyes softened, her expression far from the stoic look she wore most of the time.
