The Stirring Camp
When they moved deeper in, the air changed. Boot-cleats, clanging iron, and whispered talk filled the way, but it all came to an instant silence when a pair of guards spotted them.
It was a young soldier bearing a wooden box. He stared into Leon's face, and all the color ran out of him. The box fell from his hands, crashing on the stones with a great clang. Tools and food spilled over the ground.
"L–Lord Leon…?" He stuttered, torn between belief and wonder.
Leon leaned forward slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Yes. It's me." His voice was even, but the warmth in his eyes bore the weight of recognition, of reunion after years.
The lips of the soldier parted in surprise, but before he could utter another word, another guard advanced. His skin paled, then came alert with sudden awareness. He dropped to one knee, wordless. The clank of his armor onto the ground rang out.
