Fenn sat uncomfortably atop the horse, its steady clop against the dirt road doing little to ease his frustration. He squinted at the vast expanse of countryside stretching in every direction—rolling fields, sparse clusters of trees, and the occasional ruined farmhouse.
Damn him for this madness. The old man's insistence that Fenn be the one to deliver the letter made sense in theory,but who knew it would be such a drag?
"Why me? Why not someone who knows where they're going?" Fenn muttered, nudging the horse into a faster trot.
The horse snorted, and Fenn found himself glancing around nervously. He scanned the horizon for signs of the burnt villages the old man had mentioned, but nothing was on sight. Then, as he urged the horse forward again, a cold realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
He was lost.
Fenn pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a halt. He turned in every direction, his stomach twisting.