The sun was setting.
Thales rode on a brand new saddle, which had been placed on top of a steed with glossy fur. He moved forward slowly while he headed east.
He looked past the shoulder of the mounted sentry to stare at the weeds and smoke in the distance. Quietly, he let his mind wander.
The ground there was different. It was different from that of Northland and the desert. It was more moist, fertile, and flat. That was the information he obtained from somewhere after he received the blessing to never be lost.
"Your riding skills are very good, Your Highness. You would not lose to a well-trained rider."
The prince had been immersed in the sensations he obtained from the blessing to never be lost, but he was suddenly snapped out of his musings when the voice rang out of nowhere. He quickly looked back.
"Count Kroma."
