"It's a beautiful country, isn't it?" his father asked, his gaze fixed on the trees, his trees, lining both sides of the muddy highway. The steady, muffled thump-thump of the horse hooves rattled softly against the heavy wooden door of the carriage.
Basil followed his father's eyes out the window. To him, they were just trees. Common oaks and pines, good for ships, hardly anything worth staring at with such gravity. Still, it was true that Yarzat was a beautiful land, though Basil secretly believed a realm's true beauty rested in the worth of its people and what they might become, rather than the mere dirt they walked upon.
"It is, Father," Basil murmured, shifting on the hard bench. "Though I can't say I truly see its grandeur at this exact moment."
"Neither do I, on that account," the King agreed, drawing in a deep breath of the biting winter air.
