Trojan horse

The afternoon was quiet, but Adela's breathing was shallow and quick, racing the scenery blurring past her as she rode her mare, irrelative, unseen, and unthought of. 

The monotonous gushes of wind in her face were what connected her drifting mind to her body, and unlike standing in that cold hallway earlier, the cool temperature was now refreshing and called for, much like the lemon balm Baroness Frieda rubbed on Adela's forehead as a child to treat fever, the damp wind felt safe and comforting.

You shall represent me there.

The words turned round and round in Adela's flummoxed mind like an anchorless ship, unable to dock. They were beyond meaningless on any given day let alone on one that overflowed still with the humiliation of getting dragged out of that invested property.