At some point during the ride, Jorin will inquire about Mary's floating menagerie.  "Your, " Jorin says, and screws up his face while pointing a finger at the bits and bobs floating around Marry, "...oribt..ers...I see they are chained to you.  Would they flee if left to their own impulses?"

As the group navigates north, and even as other conversations are taking place, Hildi, seemingly in response to Drusk, but also not, rambles on about a few extraplanar beings. Anyone trying to pay attention has a hard time as he rambles on, interrupting himself, diverting onto tangents, and speaking even when other noises drown out what he's saying. He seems both interested and also bothered by what is coming out of his own mouth. It isn't until Mary moves away to engage the unknown woman that the halfling takes a break from his monotonous monologue. "Hainard's hairy toes," he says, sounding disappointed. He snaps his fingers and Volo appears, hovering a little above the rogue. The tiny owl flutters down upon Hildi's shoulder as he rummages in his pack. Pulling out a book, he opens it and begins scribbling furiously. Finally, with a surprising rip, Hildi removes the page and rolls it into a minute scroll. Holding his hand out, he turns to Volo. "Take this home. My parents' home," he specifies. "Give this to someone there. Doesn't matter to whom. Afterward, find somewhere safe to wait. I'll dismiss you in a couple of hours." As Volo flies south with the message in his claw, Hildi smiles. "Who knows how long we're going to be away. I wanted my family to know where I am."

Mary returns, carefully circling a large puddle. Behind her, three grooms are leading horses, four spirited mounts and one pony. The sixth horse is loaded with packs and supplies. She waves her hand at them. "Here, sort yourselves." Mary takes what is probably the finest horse, scooping Mortimer up and neatly climbing into the saddle. The horse skitters and shies, but she brings it under control.

(Pick your horse! Name it. Describe it. Whatever.)

Jorin picks the stockiest looking horse, running his hand along the mounts face and giving it a pat on the shoulders, "You have procured us fine steeds, Mary.  I shall name mine Stormcaller, as his thundering hooves will be the last thing my enemies here before my axe falls on them."  He laughs heartily and pulls himself atop the chestnut horse.

Drusk picks the twitchiest and most nervous looking horse, because... why not.
"Since the mare has entered the second year of age, I'll name her Jolly Ol' Yearling, in honor of Lliira." 

You can almost hear Mary’s eyes rolling. Her horse continues to be skittish, but she seems unimpressed, turning it in a circle deftly. 

Spar’s face lights up when a slightly older pinto gelding is led out and she walks over to him with barely constrained delight. She gives him a chance to get her scent and softly strokes his nose, and combs his forelock with her fingers. “Hello old boy, you’ve a nose for adventure, I can tell. Maybe I can come along, Reese?” she says quietly in a calm, warm voice the party hasn’t hear before. It’s clear she’s a Horse Girl. She walks around the animal, brushing off and inspecting and scritching and happily murmuring to him. It’s not clear if she heard someone use the name Reese or if she came up with it herself but she is happy to use it for the horse and she doesn’t think he minds much regardless. She’s smiling and for once it’s not unsettling. She gives Mary an apparently totally sincere and enthusiastic thanks and promises to care for Reese as if he were her own. Any remaining tension, from her end at least, dissolves, and she prepares for a long journey, talking quietly to Reese and responding contentedly and politely to anyone in the party who talks to her. 

Hildigrim approaches the pony — clearly meant for him — and begins mumbling to himself. He looks the creature over very analytically, clearly taking measurements, touching the creature in various places, and even jumps at it once as if to scare it. Finally, he climbs atop and takes it for a quick lap before returning to the others, looking comfortable. "Shall we proceed?"

The horses enjoy the attention. Mary turns her spirited horse again, notes that you have all mounted, and heads her horse out the open North Gate.

Nobody has picked up the lead of the pack horse.

The day is crisp and cold, and as you leave the city walls behind, Mary slows so you all can bunch up. "Today we will ride to Rassalantar. We should be there by dusk. There is an inn to spend the night, the Sleeping Dragon. Tomorrow we will ride to Amphail." And... that seems to be the extent of the small talk in which she will engage, as she spurs her horse back into the lead. Mortimer looks unhappy, but is curled up in a nest of blankets behind her saddle.

The High Road leads you away from Waterdeep, but you quickly arrive at a fork where the High Road continues northwest along the coast, and the Long Road begins, heading north along an inland route.

Notes

• Jorin, Drusk, and Hildigrim remember that Criella's cottage lies between Waterdeep and Rassalantar. The Dashing Satyr, the roadside inn where those three met Criella, and also Mavis Brinarei, Mary's grandmother, lies north of Criella's cottage, but not as far as Rasalantar. You recall it having rooms to let, but cannot imagine the quality is high. Also, the owner was kind of a jerk?
• Those who know their geography will recall little about Rassalantar, because there is little to recall. A hamlet of a half dozen farms, and an inn. Amphail, on the other hand, is well known for horse breeding, and the quality horses they produce.

Feldspar grabs the lead of the pack horse and begins quietly composing a backstory of the palomino mare, who she names Doxie, and Reese… Doxie being the strong, taciturn workhorse who always wanted to be a showhorse but ended up carrying luggage, and Reese, who was perfectly happy in the background supporting other more showy horses but who kept being selected for more exciting and dangerous work, perhaps by self-important headstrong riders who saw the pinto coat and assumed the horse was game for the storybooks. The two horses often wanted to switch places but never got the chance, and though there were times when romance reared its dramatic head, the time was never right. 

She doesn’t do a lot of scouting on this leg, head down and muttering mock conversations between the two quadrupeds. 

Mary does not call for scouts, nor does she appear very concerned with safety. Of course, this close to Waterdeep, the roads are well patrolled. 

After a couple of hours of silent travel, Hildigrim dismisses Volo and then calls him to his side. "Who did you give the note to?" he asks the owl, scratching under his beak.

After his brief exchange with his familiar, the halfling encourages his pony forward to catch up with Mary. "Ms. Greymalkin, you mentioned that you and your grandmother were not close. While my own time with Mavis was short, I still felt a kinship with her. In fact, I sent her a book of spells. Do you happen to know if she received it?"

Mary regards Hildi. Mortimer stretches sleepily in his nest. “My grandmother left me only her cat,” she says, though not unkindly. “The rest she willed to the woman, Criella, whom you may also recall. As I understand it, Criella has used this inheritance to the benefit of tieflings, and I cannot fault that. So, I do not have an answer for you, Hildigrim. Perhaps the cards do. If you like, I can ask them when we stop.”

Feldspar perks up from her horse fanfic. "What would the cards say about me?"

Mary glances back at Spar, leading Doxie. "The cards are strangely silent about you, my dear." Having dropped that, she turns back around and rides on.

"Your...," Jorin says, and screws up his face while pointing a finger at the bits and bobs floating around Marry, "...oribt..ers...I see they are chained to you.  Would they flee if left to their own impulses?  And what are these cards you speak of?"

(Right! Sorry, I forgot about Jorin's initial attempt to ask this! My bad.)

Mary, drawn into conversation with Jorin by his stubborn refusal to be ignored, sighs. "Yes. Lest I lose them." But she warms up at his interest in cards. "Ah, yes," a hand motion and a deck of tarot cards slips out of a pouch and moves front and center. "I divine futures with cards." She motions again and a different deck, this one slimmer, but made of something harder than paper, and bound with leather straps drifts out from her cloak. "Sometimes, the cards divine you. Perhaps you would like to test your fate?"

"So, I do not have an answer for you, Hildigrim. Perhaps the cards do. If you like, I can ask them when we stop."

Hildigrim frowns a little, then opens his mouth to reply when Feldspar calls, "What would the cards say about me?"

The halfling decides to wait until another time to continue his inquiries, so he lets his pony slow enough to allow the others to pass him. He resumes the regular pace once he is in the rear. He takes her journal out of his pack, deftly balances the open book on his palm while also keeping the reigns across the same fingers, and begins writing in it. He pauses from time to time to look at the passing landscape without actually seeing it. His thoughts are as complex as always, yet only the surface ideas make their way to the page.

Drusk gives a look of mild disapproval when looking at the cards.
Holding up the Magic Infinity Ball (TM), he says, "Rather than rely on luck to tell your fate, I prefer to listen to the advice of the Bringer of Joy. Rather than worry about the answers, the trick is to ask the right questions."

Drusk nods in thought when Hildigrim mentioned it might be more interesting to take the High Road north to Luskan, then east on the Blackford Road to Mirabar. "I've never visited the cities along that path. When the weather is warmer, perhaps we can find a reason for the party to visit those locales. But I can understand why we are taking the Long Road. If we traveled so close to the sea, I think the salt and dampness, combined with the chill winds swirling around the shore, would make the travel disagreeable."

Drusk asks Feldspar, "Have you ever been to Amphail? Our group was there some time ago. That was when Jorin obtained the magic belt that supplements his strength. We uncovered a plot involving ghosts and zombies, and even a vampire behind it all. (Fortunately it fled when his identity was revealed. A fight would have been much trouble.)

"Three of us have pendants that show we are Friends of Amphail. We were told that it would make things easier when dealing with the guards around town, but I suspect that their gratitude is limited... I'd also be careful about where to shop. We came across some unusual shop owners. An herbalist who seemed to smoke a lot of her own product, a dwarf who had items with questionable histories, and a lady called Marigold who thought that zombies would make good waiters in a restaurant."

(OOC: Wow, I did a search, and all of that was in Jan and Feb of 2020. Tempus fugit... I also found a post I made where I predicted the group would never come back to Amphail.)

(Wow, I did not remember all of that! Maybe we’ll just pass through Amphail at night… ;)