The scent of charred clovergrass filled Domel's nose, along with the morning scent of fresh mud as he rode alongside his master in the direction of the Twin Sprigs. Unlike the many other knights and their lancebearers, Domel's master, the Iguana Knight Oad, and himself were riding at a much slower pace and clearly not in lockstep with the rest of the nights. Domel could feel nothing but unease as he saw this - all his life he had been training to match the rhythm of other riders, to work in synchrony - as was chiseled in his mind by his instructor. But for nearly 3 cycles now, the elderly Iguana Knight had thrown all of what he'd learned off the branches - as what the village folk from the branches of the Twin Sprigs would have put it.
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