The Cavalier's Dues

Sleek and lithe, she stretched gracefully, yawning with her hands linked above her head. Her spotted mare was groomed and saddled. The stableboy handed her off to Anya and she swung into the seat, her long dark hair settling across one shoulder, accenting the lightning bolts climbing her grey woolen dress’ sleeves. The village was old; paint flaked off the buildings, the whole place smelled of horse and harvest. It had welcomed her and she had made the Cavalier’s dues, tending the sick and wounded, hearing their trials in exchange for food and shelter; it was time to move on.