Valen's armored boots pressed into the soft green grass of Salthold's northern fields, each step sending a low clink through the air, his breastplate chiming against the chainmail beneath ,like two silver spoons meeting on stone.
The spring breeze carried the scent of rain and distant smoke, and the flags above the city's watchtowers stirred lazily, unaware of the storm soon to come.
Just days prior, Vashen, firstborn of Varaku, had arrived on horseback, a gift from his prince in honor of the alliance. He had came to deliver the news, the Duskwindai had declared war.
Valen had received him not only as a guest but also as a brother-in-arms. His reply had been swift and resolute, as their oath would be fulfilled.
He remembered how Vashen's shoulders had seemed to ease at those words, the faintest smile touching his lips, that he had never seen move into anything other than brooding whenever he watched him.
