A/N: Hey everyone, here's the next piece of Dreams of Giants. Enjoy!
A single ray of sun pierced the cloud-cover. It cast a golden glint onto the dark mane of Miana's horse. Miana peeked tentatively into her pouch, ascertaining that The Book of Truth still lay inside. She tied the pouch beneath the saddle and clumsily clambered onto her mount. She shivered from the cold, and sought what warmth she could from her thick woolen scarf. The wind gusted, freezing her to the bone as she dug her knees gently into the side of the horse and cantered northwards. She gazed back one final time to bid the library farewell.
The meadow on the edge of the street had frosted, and the grass that had once been an emerald hue held a depressing brown taint. The sporadic cottages and rarer shops irregularly placed along the dirt-road each had a column of smoke rising from its chimney. The glacial air numbed Miana's cheeks a pale pink, and her fingers were frozen to her horse's reigns, resigned to the fact that no matter how many times she rubbed them, they would not warm up.
The absence of other people on the road was not unexpected, but it was disconcerting. Most of the usual traffic would be curled up in front of their respective warm fires, not worried in the least about the cold, and certainly not worried about the prospect that the Book of Truth might end up in the wrong hands.
The dull thud of hooves hitting earth reverberated through the streets with only the occasional patch of cobblestones breaking the monotony of the sound. With each pulse, Miana felt the fatigue set in a little more. The roadside soon became a dull blur, and the vicious chill a throbbing numbness.
The sight of a silhouette emerging from the shadow jerked Miana out of her daze. A rush of adrenaline shot up her spine. Had they found her already? She searched around frantically. Was there anywhere she could hide? The Bubbling Pot: a little inn about twenty feet ahead. Perhaps she could stay there for the night as well.
Miana trotted through the picket fence that surrounded the perimeter of the inn's grounds. She did not notice the skillful craftsmanship of the eagle carved from granite, or the magnificent winter sun disappearing behind the horizon to the West. She noticed only the thatched roof of the stables as she urged her horse towards them.
Weathered, Miana clambered off her horse and tethered him securely to the leather strap that hung off the stable's roof. She rubbed her hands together as she walked across to the lobby of the inn. A quick survey of the road from which she had come revealed the rider of the silhouette. He, or perhaps she, was no longer a speck on the far off horizon, but rapidly glided toward the south.
With a single last furtive glance toward the sunset, Miana closed the gap to the inn itself. The distant clapping of hooves on the earth could now be heard in the distance above her hasty footsteps. It wouldn't be long before the rider reached the inn. The hair on the back of her spine prickled.
She grasped the doorknob, yanked the door open, and stepped into the warmth of the inn's lobby. Behind her, the distant rhythm of the horse faded with the closing door.
)
