A large canvas tent sat atop a hill overlooking the River Luath, its peaked roof snapping gently in the cold winter wind. Inside, a brazier glowed in the center of the space, doing its best to fight back the chill that seeped through the heavy fabric walls. The tent wasn't a military command post, despite the rings of smaller tents that clustered around it, covering the hillside in round tents that had popped up in the hours before sunset like mushrooms bursting forth from the earth.
Rather, this was Baron Loghlan Dunn's personal traveling quarters, the place where he and his wife had slept and taken their meals for the past week as they'd slowly moved south along the route their son would have taken to come home from Lothian.
