The stagecoach offered the trio a ride to the next town over, as the driver would not be going to the capital. Sigurd agreed, finally taking note of prices. It was significantly cheaper to travel by carriage.
“I need to prep the horses and some supplies for the road. We leave in an hour.”
With that declaration, and Sigurd's humbled resolve concerning monetary matters, he decided to treat the girls to a meal before departing.
He let them pick the restaurant, on the condition they eat everything they order.
‘Nia doesn't seem too sickly,' Joyce thought, as she watched them eat. ‘Mia said she was lent the money for her treatment, so maybe it didn't fully work because they've been living on the streets for so long?’
They enjoyed their hearty meal and soon took their leave, bidding a temporary farewell to Miltonshire, on the way to Sigurd's domain.
The rhythmic clatter of horseshoes against the uneven terrain filled the air, intermingling with the girls' soft laughter as they rode in the back of the rented coach following a caravan of merchants.
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Still under the side effects of having used his skill, Sigurd sat there, motionless, quietly observing the girls. A thought sprouted in his head as he saw them frolic.
‘What am I going to do with these two? My wallet is shrinking by the second, and I don’t know the first thing about caring for kids...’ Joyce lamented. ‘It’s not like I ever got the chance in my previous life, with all the conflict around me. Well, for now, it’s best not to think about it. I’ll cross that road later!’
The journey unfolded beneath a clear sky, the sun's rays casting a warm embrace over the land. Verdant fields stretched out in an endless tapestry of hills, climbs, and falls. The scent of wildflowers lingered in the air like a sweet promise of serenity. Thought that promise would not last long.
As the day waned and night descended, the merchant caravan stopped for the evening, and their driver followed suit. It was unsafe to travel in the dusk, after all.
They pitched up a few tents. Lacking such commodities, Sigurd and the girls huddled under a blanket in the back of the stagecoach.
Then, in the middle of the night, a sense of foreboding crept into the air. A whisper of danger sent shivers down Sigurd's spine, jolting him awake. It was like a soldier's sixth sense, as Joyce knew it, an eerie premonition that kept her awake and alert.
The stillness of the night was shattered by the sudden appearance of shadowy figures, their presence a harbinger of the chaos that was about to unfold.
Bandits, their faces obscured by masks, emerged from the darkness like phantoms, their weapons glinting in the moonlight as they surrounded the caravan with predatory intent.
Sigurd's grip tightened on the hilts of swords, his jaw set in steely resolve as he assessed the situation with a keen eye, and his mind raced with strategies to protect the caravan. More than anything, though, he wanted to keep his new daughters safe.
Mia and Nia, startled by the tension in the air, huddled closer together. Sigurd motioned at them to sit still and not make any sounds, as he braced himself for yet another encounter.
“Just my luck," he whispered. “Here we go again.”