Return of the General's Daughter

Aramis, ruggedly tall and lean, exuded the confidence of a skilled horseman. He appeared to be in his late twenties, with a boyish competitiveness in his movements. After handing Lara the reins, he mounted his dark brown steed and galloped away.

"Aramis—!" Lara’s shout trailed behind him like an echo in the wind.

Lara barely had time to mount before she was forced to chase after him, gripping the reins tighter than she intended.

She had been a champion equestrienne once, a prodigy at fifteen, effortlessly commanding her horse through jumps and sprints.

But that was a lifetime ago.

Now, as she spurred the chestnut thoroughbred, feeling the animal’s restless energy beneath her fingers, she realized how long it had been since she was on horseback. Every jolt sent sharp reminders through her body.

She rode stiffly, her fatigues clinging to her skin beneath the weight of her black backpack. Strapped securely beside it was a smaller sack filled with yarrows, dried meat, water, and other supplies —essentials for a journey.

It was late afternoon when Lara and Aramis rode out of Calma. The sun in the west cast long golden streaks across the rugged landscape as the town faded behind them, swallowed by the dust kicked up by their horses’ hooves. The dusty road stretched endlessly before them, shimmering in the late afternoon heat.

Aramis waited for her a kilometer ahead, lounging in his saddle with an infuriating smirk.

"You’re going to run these horses to the ground," she snapped as she reined in beside him.

He only hummed in response, nonchalant, letting his horse walk for a few strides—before, once again, he gave it the signal to bolt.