The air outside the tent was crisp despite the cold, heavy with the scent of pine smoke and distant roasting meat. The fires of the camp burned steadily in long lines across the field, their orange glow bathing everything in a warm haze. Alpheo walked with steady, relaxed steps through the packed earth paths between rows of tents, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Beside him, walking a little more rigidly was Arnold.
The lord glanced around warily, eyes drifting from group to group of soldiers laughing over cups of wine or dozing in front of fire pits.
"…Is it really wise to walk around without guards, Your Grace?" he asked cautiously
Alpheo gave a short, unbothered laugh. "There's no safer place than this camp. Unless, of course"—he cast a sly glance his way—"you're suggesting I should be worried about my choice of companion."
