Three days later, Alistair and his soldiers finally returned to Frostcrest.
He looked upon the familiar city and the familiar streets and felt that even the faint scent of horse manure in the air was exceptionally fresh.
It's good to be on my own turf, Alistair mused.
He glanced at the soldiers behind him and saw comfort and relief in their eyes as well. They likely shared his sentiment.
The company ambled back towards Snowmantle Citadel. From a distance, Alistair spotted a small figure sitting on a low stool by the gate. She formed a charming contrast with the tall guards flanking the entrance, making her appear all the more petite and endearing.
It was, without a doubt, his little maid, Abby.
Behind Abby stood a kindly-faced middle-aged woman—Mrs. Agnes.
What are those two doing by the gate? Alistair wondered, urging his mount to the front of the column.
Abby sat with her chin in her hands, her small ears drooping as she stared blankly, lost in thought.
