>>5946358You swiftly ascend onto Wittekind, your loyal destrier, the leather creaking under your weight. Urging him forward with a gentle nudge, you gallop back to camp, the wind whipping through your hair as the familiar landscape rushes past. No one looks at you, even with the hood and cloak, or even at the speed you are going. The thing is, after all, a finespun fabric of satin, not the rough homespun that the common man dresses in. Even to the city guards, it is clear that you are someone who could potentially ruin their careers if they were too rough. You do slow down when you reach the gates of the city.
But as soon as you are clear of the guards and the other traffic, you quickly pick up the pace again. Wittekind loves to gallop at great speed; the magnificent white stallion was aware of what he was bred for from day one. A true knight's steed with the temper of his master. Only you are allowed to ride; others may merely lead and feed him. A gift from your father for your thirteenth birthday, you have ridden him since he was a pony. Ehrenfierd considers him to be the most unruly horse he has ever seen, and more than one unlucky stablehand has lost the end of his finger to his teeth. Thankfully, he is most agreeable to you and the people who regularly feed him.
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