"Isn't it exciting?"
The voice belonged to a young man of fifteen, bright with energy. He leaned sideways in the saddle toward the older one riding beside him, his grin wide and knowing.
His hair was black as smoldering charcoal, combed back to either side in a slightly uneven middle part. A stray lock, rebellious as its owner, had fallen to rest just above his left brow, where a thin scar ran downward in a pale, jagged line before ending two finger-widths above his eye. It caught the sunlight now, like a slash of silver against his otherwise youthful face.
Behind them, a column of soldiers stretched along the well-worn dirt road, their boots drumming out a steady march. Spears and banners swayed rhythmically in the breeze, the metallic clink of armor punctuating the muffled thud of hooves.
The two riders led them toward the lands of their new master.
