The morning mist clung to the grasslands like a shroud, softening the edges of the distant hills. Pieter van der Merwe rode slowly along the main path of the settlement, the wheels of wagons creaking under the weight of supplies. The air was thick with anticipation and unease. Rumors had reached the camp: British envoys were on their way, bearing letters from Cape Town, and more dangerously, intentions that were anything but neutral.
Koen rode beside him, scanning the horizon. His eyes narrowed as a group of mounted men appeared, dust trailing behind their hooves. Their coats, crisp and unnatural against the muted colors of the veld, immediately marked them as the representatives of the British crown.
“They come too boldly,” Koen muttered. “Do they not know the spirit of the men they app
