Lestor's pace quickened, eagerness flooding his mind. It took everything in him not to break into a gallop and leave their slow procession behind. The snow was thin here, spring just around the corner, and he found himself having to unlace his jacket, and taking off the thick woolen cap upon his head. Perhaps he was becoming more acclimated to this place than he had thought.
His impatience had him almost whipping his poor horse so that they could run more faster, but his rationality still won.
“You could just go. We will get there, in time. Go to him.” Silas is weary, Lestor finally realized, his overexcited thoughts swiftly returning to his brother, shamed that he had even thought of abandoning him. They would reach the palace grounds together, shoulder to shoulder.
He slowed his pace
