In the stables, the black rider rubbed his horse down with a rag and gave him a sugar cube. Every now and then, he glanced over at the old man in the stall across, caring for the pack mule. The old man was waiting for him to say something, probably about the girl, but the black rider would say nothing. The old man would speak eventually if he waited.
“So, is this… the girl, then?” asked the man at last.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said the black rider.
“Is she yours?”
“I’m taking her to my prince,” said the black rider sharply, ending the direction of the conversation.
The old man watched the black rider give his valued horse another sugar cube. He would not ask the obvious question, but it would occur to the younger man in a moment.
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To Be Continued....
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