❝ no, stop! stop fighting at once – lay down your weapons! ❞
the thudding hooves of his steed across the rocky, uneven terrain trample what dry, meager grasses feather the gaps between slate-colored stones, mountain peaks rising all around them like jagged spires. through the small crevice hardly wide enough for two men to pass abreast, the lone armored figure rides from beneath the shielded underpass, an arm raised to call for a ceasefire. the new sunlight glints brightly off his ivory armor && its golden gildings, and from his decorated dress he is clearly of high status. ❝ by order of the king of thracia. ❞ sweat mats brown locks to his forehead as he pulls his horse to a stop.
given another few minutes, the situation could have become dire. a collection of the area’s bandits had hunted down && cornered what seems to be an errant traveler,
——- but he can’t have this happening, not if he wants things to change.
❝ ehh, what’s the order of the k i n g to people like us? ❞ one of the thin bandits scoffs, though in the interruption, at least they seem to have stopped attacking.
ignoring the remark for now, leif turns to the unfamiliar face, still catching his breath. ❝ are you hurt? ❞