The first words came from Serge Otker, even though none of the lords who were present seemed interested in hearing what he had to say.
The young lords had barely settled into their loose cluster, their horses falling into an easy, matched pace on a stretch of trail wide enough for three riders abreast as they followed along with the hunt, when the Otker heir straightened up in his saddle and fixed his bleary gaze on the column ahead.
In front of them, Owain and his inner circle had pulled further ahead, the gap between them and the young lords growing as the trail narrowed and the pace of the column's vanguard quickened to keep up with the hounds and the elk.
Behind them, the lower-ranked knights and the three young squires had moved over to a trail on the other side of the creek, leaving the five young lords in a pocket of relative privacy between the two groups.
