The tirelessly prancing black
stallion was clearly of noble lineage, and had the lines of a thunderer
and was blessed not only of classic lines but also of an inordinate
swiftness which, with little Si'Wren on him, made the combination of
horse and rider as swift as a rushing rapids and left the Emperor's
horse-messengers perpetually envious.
Si'Wren's raiment consisted of a long-sleeved blouse and leggings, tiny
slippers, and a riding cape. Every item was absolute, total jet black,
and tight at the cuffs of wrists and ankles and at the waist, but free
to ripple over her slender limbs in the sun and wind. Attached to her
black saddle, chased with silver trim, were her official writing kit
packed in wrapped punk moss in a saddlebag, and a few other items.
Upon Ibi's strict orders, she was forbidden to use berry juice to stain
her lips, or make use of any other form of makeup, or any sort of
adornment or jewelry, because it would have detracted from the
appearance of royal dignity and absolute asceticism in her calling as
Royal Scribe. It was bad enough, decried Ibi one day, that she was only
a female. Worse, she was small even for her age and sex. On top of
that, Si'Wren, born into a world of penta-centenarians, men and women
of five hundred or more years of age, was, at a mere seventeen, so
infernally young.
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