Gemma leaned back on the bench seat and braced her heels against the footrest so that she would not need to hold on with her sore arm. She savored her delight quietly as she tilted her head back and looked through the tunnel of her bonnet brim at the blue sky above. She was not quite sure why she felt deeply affected by this new knowledge. Perhaps it did not matter. Perhaps it was simply gladness that at least one person had not been entirely eradicated by war.

LYSANDER HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED such stillness. The war seemed so far away in the dales. Of course, no patch of England had escaped her losses entirely, for Lysander had seen sons of every county go down in the muddy fields outside Burgos Castle. If he asked, he knew that he would learn of many families who were one, or two, or three sons lesser than they had been.

Yet however grieving, the dale folk carried on through their seasons of loss and plenty. Sorrow might fill their insides with broken shards but the rhythm of the days went on. Lambs needed birthing, sheep needed shearing, wood needed stacking for the winter, gardens needed tending.

Now spring had come, with life renewing all around them. It seemed that everyone had a role to play. Perhaps they had learned some secret, a lesson Lysander not found in the clamoring, rattling, never-ending round of London life.

He looked down at his hands that held the reins so gently upon the war pony's mouth. Even this tragically misunderstood creature still moved forward, still fought for life and understanding. Although the battlefields were evident in the scars on its flanks, the tough little soldier kept on fighting forward.

Lysander let his gaze rise from the pony to the winding cart path ahead and then upward still more. He realized that they had climbed a great distance on this meandering back and forth trail. Already he could see far down the dale, so far that the sloped, emerald pastures cut by grey-brown dry-stone walls began to haze in the distance. A patchwork quilt tumbled upon an unmade bed.

The pony stopped and Lysander’s gaze dropped back to the path before them. It had narrowed even more so and there was simply no managing the cart from this point.

"Will anyone come?"

Gemma blinked at him. "Oh, I shouldn't think so. In fact I would think that this is the first cart to make it this high. I'd expected we would walk the last mile or so." She waved a hand up the slope.

When Lysander stepped down from the cart he absentmindedly flipped down the step he'd created for Topknot. The dog scrambled joyfully down and followed at his heels as he walked around the cart to help Gemma down. Then he began to unhitch the war pony.

"You're setting him loose?"