Damien
The wind curled through the courtyard, sharp with mountain chill. It tugged at the horses’ manes and flapped loose cloaks like warning flags. Somewhere beyond the walls, a hawk cried out, but the men didn’t flinch. They were used to harsher sounds.
I tightened the final strap securing a crate to one of the pack horses, checking it twice before stepping back. Supplies. Maps. Correspondence. A formal cloak for the meeting and enough weapons to pretend I wasn’t walking into a den of wolves.
We were nearly ready.
The Stormwatch banners hung limp in the frozen air. Elias was late, as usual. A few of the younger guards muttered about whose horse smelled worst, or whether they’d get to stop for real food along the road. I ignored them. My focus was on the northern archway—the one that
