
Date: 18th Ymiden, 716
Location: Imperial Border Fortress
Finally, after way too long in the saddle, the Fortress loomed ahead. The sun was just setting, and the shadows gave their group a moment of blessed coolness. The day had been scorcher, even by the standards of the Hotlands. They had started before the sun had risen, in an attempt to avoid the heat of the day, as the wolves that followed the Scouts couldn't handle too much movement during the day.
But finally, over a dozen breaks later, they had made it. Tristan stretched in his saddle, twisting to the side as he turned to gaze at the scattered lines of horsemen stretching out behind him. Fifty-one in total, with Rican in charge. He turned to gaze at his master, riding confidently beside him. Whistling to get his attention, Tristan twisted his hands.
What should we do when we get there? Is it going to be another night in tents?
Rican looked at him, and shook his head.
They should welcome us, though I'm not sure how many are left. Most of the forces left to fight already. Raskalarn left here on the first, so they've been gone a while.
Tristan nodded, and focused back on the far off building, zoning out as the long line slowly lumbered across the sand.
Tristan sat stiffly at the table, slightly annoyed at his master. Rican had been greeted by the fort commander as they entered the gate, and had been invited in for dinner. The rest of his pack had been forced to eat the same gruel they had eaten since they left Korlasir over three weeks earlier. Of course, since Rican was invited, Tristan was expected to. Rican could've easily sent Tristan back to the fires of the Scouts, and the easy camaraderie there.
Instead, he was forced to attend a formal dinner. Him, a slave who had never used utensils that nice. Shuffled down the table, he sat awkwardly between two older humans who wore the uniforms of infantry commanders. They had made some attempts at conversation when he had first joined them, but his attempts to communicate left them confused. So he was resigned to silence, too worried to eat the spread before him. His stomach grumbled its dissent, but he refused to eat incorrectly and let it reflect badly on his master.
Damn you Rican. You couldn't have given me leave for this?
As he sat and listened, however, he heard tales. A battle had been fought, and they would likely need reinforcements right away. A pigeon had brought the news, though it hadn't said which way the fight had gone. When the commander told Rican they would be heading out in the morning, Tristan internally sighed.
More time in the saddle. Yay.
He tried to ignore his stomach, and enjoy the rest of the night, realizing that this would likely be the last time he was warm and comfortable for a long time.