"..."
Heron stood atop the town wall, his gnarled hands resting on the cold stone. His eyes, clouded with age and memory, followed the carriage as it grew smaller and smaller on the horizon, a dark speck against the vast white expanse. The wind tugged at his robes, but he remained as still as a statue, his expression unreadable.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Was it regret? Relief? Or simply the weary acknowledgment of another parting?
Just then, a figure stepped soundlessly beside him. It was the supervisor sent by the royalty, his face etched with a respect that bordered on reverence.
"You did the right thing, Sir Hero," the man muttered, his voice low and earnest.
Heron didn't glance his way. He didn't so much as twitch. He simply continued to stare at the vanishing carriage, his silence a wall in itself.
