The walls of Nateron rose higher and higher as the caravan approached, their shadows stretching across the fields like the arms of an old friend reaching out to embrace them. The road beneath their wheels vibrated with a growing excitement—not from their own group, but from the city itself, which seemed to hum with anticipation, as if word of their return had slipped through the air long before anyone arrived.
When they were close enough to see the details in the stonework, one of Gareth's knights—Remiel, the swiftest rider among them—leaned forward, gave Gareth a quick nod, and kicked his tiger mount into a sprint. A streak of brown and black blurred past the caravan, kicking up dust as he shot down the road toward the gates.
"Let them know we're coming," Gareth murmured, though everyone knew it was more than formality. Nateron deserved a warning. And celebrations. And time to look their best for the news they were about to receive.
