It was still early. The sun was rising, painting the land with amber lights. The morning mist was covering the country side, and the air was still fresh, tickling your nose in a pleasant way. It was quiet, the only noises breaking the silence being the clicking of the horses hooves or the chirping of the birds.

You clutched your large scarf, covering the bottom of your face, around your neck. Your gloved hands comfortably rested on the saddle as you appreciated the beauty of the landscape that was offered to you.

Until the insufferable deep voice of your fellow-traveler broke the serenity of the moment with a scornful comment.

"You don’t see that kind of scenery often in your stinky swamp, don’t you witch ?"