When the carriage finally crested the small hill that hid the race track from view, Micheline got her first look at the source of the otherworldly glow.
The sun had slipped behind the mountains in the west, leaving only a hint of color on the wispy clouds in the sky, but the sight before her had little need of the sun to light the way.
The race track outside Lothian City had never been a grand, permanent structure. The track hosted a single, grand tournament at the end of spring, followed by horse races in the warm, summer months. Over the past several decades, the track itself had been worn bare, as had several footpaths that led to the surrounding slopes where the common people gathered on the grass or blankets to watch an evening of excitement.
Only a few stone structures had been built to host the wealthy and well-bred, mostly supports for wooden scaffolds that were replaced each season and a platform used to present awards to victors or address the assembled audience.
