Driving rain pounded on the roof of Tarkyn’s shelter all morning. At some point, a plate of bread and soft cheese accompanied by a jug of berry juice was thrust into his tent with a brief “Good Morning,” but no one came in. After four days of repairing trees, followed by the discovery of Andoran and Sargon’s duplicity and his run-in with Autumn Leaves, Tarkyn was quite happy to spend the morning in bed.
When the rain passed, he lay listening to the birdsong around him until the gruff voice of the wizard sounded at the entrance to his shelter.
“Come on, young Sire. You can’t lie abed all day. Rain’s stopped. Sun’s out…well, most of the time anyway.”
Tarkyn grumbled to himself, but he was used to being ordered around by familiar retainers, whose lives revolved around his. As soon as he em
