The morning sun beat down hot upon his neck, though the air biting at his face remained bitterly cold.
Winter was almost over.
The realization washed over Vilon like the blooming of a flower that had thorns. An entire season had slipped through his fingers, months spent slogging along churned, muddy roads, gazing upon the broken ruin of a once-prosperous land, burned and gutted to its conqueror's liking. And yet, that very conqueror now acted as its shepherd, redirecting grain and timber to rebuild the kingdom he had shattered.
He had planned to just pass through, and yet it seemed the Gods had a different direction for his life to go.
Back when Vilon had first set out, his greatest worries had been a full belly and whether the army of the Valorous Bull would accept a hedge knight into its ranks. How strange that those worries, which had once loomed like impenetrable mountains, now felt like tiny, distant hills.
