Miles away from the hidden Garrison Creek, a weathered carriage rolled along the main road toward Hanompetra, its wheels creaking rhythmically against the worn, uneven road.
Inside, three figures sat in comfortable conversation, their voices mixing with the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the gentle sway of the vehicle's springs.
Jaenor had changed considerably since his supposed death years ago; Baren could tell that much. He hadn't seen him since that day in the forest. He had changed a lot; everything about him did, and so did they.
No longer the uncertain boy who had vanished during that fateful night in the forest, he had grown into a young man whose dark hair now fell past his shoulders and whose eyes held depths of experience that spoke of hardships endured and overcome. His clothes were simple but well-made, the garb of a traveling merchant rather than a farm boy.
Odessa had given him the clothes after his fight with the troll.
