Several Days Later…
The morning sky over the Strathmore encampment was a pale, washed-out grey, the sun hidden behind a thin veil of high altitude clouds. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth, woodsmoke from the breakfast fires, and the faint, medicinal tang of the burning herbs to keep the plague at bay.
Inside the command tent, Derek sat at his portable desk. A single oil lamp flickered, casting long shadows against the canvas walls. He held a sealed letter in his hand. The parchment was thick and expensive, creamy white against his leather gloves. The wax seal was intricate, a deep crimson depicting a stylized cross radiating sunbeams—the emblem of the High Cathedral of Strathmore.
Derek broke the seal with a sharp crack. The sound was loud in the quiet tent. He unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the elegant, flowing script written in black ink.
