Florence bundled her blankets and cloak tighter around her shoulders as she trudged through the snow. "Back when I was younger, I could march half a day without a break. Now I can't go half an hour without stopping to piss."
Millicent Redhand smirked. "Some of us expand with age," she said, patting her own thick trunk. "You shrank, so now you're stuck with a bladder the size of a chipmunk's."
Beside her, Grace the Bloody flashed a toothless scowl. "Less talking, more walking."
Florence rested her weight on her staff. "Don't worry, Grace. We'll get Jacob back."
"I know, mother."
Florence sighed. Grace, two years Florence's senior, had taken to calling her "mother" almost a decade ago. Florence wasn't sure Grace even understood it was her own grandson who had been kidnapped.
"Why didn't we hitch a ride with that wine merchant's caravan?" Florence asked. "Wait, I remember. Because somebody tried to seduce the driver."
"How was I supposed to know his wife was one of the guards?" asked Millie. "Besides, I was only trying to warm my hands."
Grace glanced back. "Do you need to borrow my mittens?"
Hoofbeats cut off Florence's retort. Millie looked at Florence, who listened for a moment, then said, "Sounds like a single rider."
Both women took up protective positions in front of Grace. Florence relaxed slightly when she saw the rider. The gold and green armor on the Appaloosa mare and her rider marked them as belonging to the Viscount's Guard.
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