The frontline camp of the Black Stone Territory.
The afterglow of the setting sun gilded the sprawling Black Stone Mountain Range with a golden edge.
Raylo stood on a newly built wooden watchtower, his gaze traveling past the nascent defense works and toward the dark green horizon to the South.
In the direction of the Jade Swamp, the clouds still roiled ominously, like a cauldron of poison soup that would never cool.
Even from such a great distance, he and the Sun had felt the heart-stopping aftershock of that world-shaking roar.
The master of this vast swamp had been utterly enraged.
Just then, a great cloud of dust billowed on the western horizon as a dull, thunderous pounding of hooves grew louder, approaching from the distance.
"My Lord! A large cavalry unit has been spotted to the west, approaching us at high speed!"
The sentry's cry broke the tranquility of the camp.
"Don't panic."
Raylo said.
"They're our own."
