Under a Swift Sunrise
The air was crisp and the dew barely settled on the grass when Orthael left the house. He closed the door behind him with just the clink of his chain shirt and took the stairs up onto the wall two at a time - relishing the lightness of foot and freedom of movement that came with being out of armour.
There were two men by the gate, resting on a low stone ledge and warming themselves beside a pair of torches. They made space for him - one a guardsman, a army veteran now retired, and the other an apprentice baker soon to strike out on his own.
"It's been quiet, minister. The previous watch said they took a few shots at movement in the forest, but nothing more."
"S'right. We've been keeping watch, but there be nothing out there this morn'."
He stayed with them at little longer, declined a swig from the guardsman's flask, and headed back towards the chapel. The morning prayers had always been a good way to settle his nerves.
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