Morning mist swallowed the world beyond arm's reach, turning House Velrane's courtyard into an island of stone floating in a sea of gray.
Soren tightened the cinch on his saddle, the leather creaking beneath his hands as he worked. The shard against his chest felt colder than usual, as if responding to the chill that hung in the air.
"You're doing it wrong."
The Swordmaster's voice cut through the silence like a blade. Kaelor stood beside his own mount, a massive gray destrier that seemed too large for any normal man to control.
The scarred warrior didn't look at Soren as he spoke, his attention seemingly fixed on adjusting his own tack.
"The buckle needs to be one notch tighter," he continued, still not looking up. "Unless you fancy tumbling from your saddle the first time we encounter rough terrain."
