Anderson's POV
Every soldier in this escort understood the stakes. Death waited beyond these walls, and they had all accepted that truth before mounting their horses. Anderson was no exception to this grim reality.
In his middle years, his body carried the weight of countless battles. Each time he climbed into the saddle, his knees protested with sharp reminders of his age. The persistent ache in his ribs, a souvenir from the last beast tide, never fully subsided. Scars mapped his flesh like a warrior's chronicle, each mark a testament to survival against impossible odds.
But what did any of it matter now? His wife had fled the North with their child weeks ago, vanishing without so much as a farewell. Some whispered she had taken the western routes, others swore they had seen her heading south toward warmer lands.
