The morning was cold and clear when Damon finally finished adjusting the last leather straps of his backpack and crossed the front courtyard of the mansion. The place still bore the marks of recent destruction, although much of the damage was slowly being reversed.
Some walls had been rebuilt, columns reinforced, and the garden was beginning to regain its shape, even though piles of stone and broken wood remained heaped in corners of the grounds.
The carriage that would take him to Arven awaited near the main gate, two black horses stamping their hooves against the stone ground with restrained impatience while the coachman held the reins firmly in his hands.
The morning air had that particular silence that precedes farewells, a strange pause in the normal flow of life.
Elizabeth, Aria, and Esther were gathered a few steps ahead, waiting for him near the carriage.
None of them seemed particularly comfortable with the situation, although each expressed it differently.
