The day of departure arrived on a gloomy morning.
The entire manor was enveloped in an atmosphere of tension and bustling activity. The Baron and his family's carriages, adorned with the family crest, were ready. Servants in decent livery moved nervously but orderly, loading various supplies.
Elara and the few other selected attendants were placed at the very end of the procession. She was assigned the thinnest, most ill-tempered old horse, tasked with overseeing several heavy bundles of foul-smelling furs and miscellaneous items. No one gave her any proper equipment. She still wore the coarse linen tunic, hastily cleaned after Martha dirtied it, with the old headscarf wrapped around her head.
Before setting off, Steward Gregor once again called the low-ranking attendants aside for a final "briefing." His gaze swept over each of them like a knife, finally settling on Elara with undisguised disgust and warning.
"Listen carefully!" Gregor's voice was chilling. "This is the Royal Hunting Ground! Not your muddy fields! Watch your eyes, your mouths, and your hands! Don't look where you shouldn't, don't say what you shouldn't, don't touch what you shouldn't!"
He stepped closer, hissing right beside Elara's ear, "Especially you, Elara! Remember your place! You are dirt! Less than dirt! Your only job is to be invisible unless spoken to, and obey instantly! One wrong move, one misplaced word, and you won't just be coming back here," he sneered, "you might not come back at all. Understand?!"
Elara stiffened, sheer terror making it almost impossible to breathe. She could smell the foul mix of cheap ale and sweat on Gregor, feel the undisguised malice in his words. She knew this wasn't an empty threat.
"...Understood, Steward," she managed to force out the words, her voice barely audible.
"Hmph!" Gregor seemed satisfied by her fear. He looked her up and down again, frowning in disgust. "Pathetic thing! Try not to vomit on any noble's boots!"
With that, he ignored Elara and turned to fawn over the Baron.
The procession finally set off.
The Baron and his family rode in carriages at the front, knights flanking them, followed by supply wagons, and lastly, the lowest attendants like Elara. She was forced to walk beside a slow-moving oxcart carrying miscellaneous goods, the kicked-up dust and smell of dung nearly suffocating her. The cold wind cut through her thin clothes, and the path underfoot was rough. She saw the servants in the wagons ahead; though nervous, they at least had shelter from the elements. She, however, was completely exposed, like a piece of carelessly discarded luggage.
No one cared if she kept up or could endure. The other attendants kept their distance, seemingly afraid of being tainted by her "bad luck."
After what felt like an eternity of trudging, when Elara felt her legs were heavy as lead and her throat was parched raw, the procession finally slowed down.
A wider, more chaotic scene unfolded before her eyes.
They had reached the Royal Hunting Grounds.
This area was clearly just the periphery, but its scale and activity were far beyond anything Elara could have imagined. Countless tents of various colors dotted the grassy fields like mushrooms, some particularly large and opulent, flying banners and crests she didn't recognize but clearly represented prominent families. Nobles and knights in diverse hunting attire rode back and forth on spirited horses. The barking of excited hounds, the neighing of horses, the boisterous laughter and commands of men, the distant sound of hunting horns... all mingled into a deafening, powerful background noise. The air smelled of roasting meat, strong ale, woodsmoke, and inevitably, animal dung and the sweat of a large crowd.
This vast camp, filled with power, wealth, and potential danger, made the newly arrived Elara feel dizzy and insignificant.
The Baron's party found their designated campsite, a relatively remote spot near the edge of the woods. Almost immediately, Elara was assigned a task by one of the Baron's personal attendants (clearly higher ranking than Gregor)—to guard a pile of seemingly unimportant miscellaneous goods and some bales of hay that had just been unloaded at the edge of the camp, and to clear the ground in the immediate vicinity.
Gregor didn't even bother glancing her way, as if his task of "delivering" her was complete.
Thus, Elara was left alone in this corner of the enormous camp, accompanied only by a pile of musty supplies and the whistling wind. Gregor's repulsive face was temporarily distant, but replaced by the vast, unfamiliar, and far more dangerous hunting ground.
She felt like a grain of sand cast aside, lost in this overwhelming display of opulence and latent menace.
Elara took a deep breath, trying to calm her pounding heart. She knew the new ordeal, or rather, the real ordeal, was just beginning. Her senses heightened to their peak, she warily surveyed this immense, unknown cage.