“So—your dead grandfather left you a map for your birthday, huh?” Tarc said leading Daz out of the stall, the early morning sun shining through the open barn door. “What kind of a present is that?”
“Depends on where it leads,” Kief grinned as he pulled his saddle off the wood-planked wall.
Tarc grabbed a brush from the dusty shelf and stroked Daz’s back, “He’s been dead for years, why’d your grandma wait until now to give it to you?”
“She said he didn’t want me to have it until I was ready to leave for academy,” Kief threw the saddle onto his horse Natch. His sorrel coat was thickening with the changing seasons.

Chapter 1 pg. 1