Inside the stables, Prudence returned with the remaining contenders just as the roar of wagers began to swell beyond the wooden walls. Coins clinked. Voices rose and tangled. Anticipation sat thick in the air, metallic and sharp, mingling with the scent of hay, sweat, and restless horses. It was a sound that made one acutely aware of being watched, measured, and judged.
The women did not speak much among themselves. There was a peculiar reverence that fell over competitors in the moments before a race, a quiet born not of camaraderie but of private reckoning. Each stood beside her mount as the stable hands led the horses toward their allotted positions, leather tack creaking softly with every step.
Prudence's gaze fell to Daisy's saddle as it was secured. The number stitched upon it made her pause.
Fifteen.
Her birthday.
