The escorting elf warrior led Harlon and Princess Erowen to a tent pitched near the very edge of the clearing, where the towering trees began their relentless sprawl. It was larger than the others, clearly serving as a temporary command center.
The three of them ducked beneath the heavy canvas flap and entered.
The tent's interior was dominated by a large wooden table upon which a massive, detailed map was spread, a topographical nightmare of ravines, thickets, and shadowed trails marking the contested borders.
Seated behind the map was a young elf man, surprisingly short in stature for a frontline captain, and completely clad in practical, dirt-stained black leather armor that seemed to make him blend with the shadows cast by the lamps.
He was intensely focused, marking new, ominous-looking spots on the map with red chalk and adjusting small wooden markers.
He lifted his head, confused and curious by the sound of their entry, his dark eyes scanning the new arrivals.
