Jiang Ning rode at an even pace, neither urging his horse forward nor allowing it to slow. The road back to North Pine stretched long and quiet beneath a sky washed clean by the morning sun. Wind brushed past him, tugging at his cloak, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth, the smell of the countryside settling into something familiar the further he went. Hooves struck the packed dirt in a steady rhythm, unhurried, unbroken, the sound almost meditative after the chaos of the morning.
There was no rush.
