The wagon came to a sudden halt, its wooden frame groaning in protest as the wheels ground against gravel. The abrupt stop jolted its occupants awake, dragging them from restless sleep into wary alertness.
Roland and Odran were the first to react. They exchanged a quick glance before rushing to the wagon door, throwing it open just enough to peer inside. Their expressions carried an unspoken urgency, the kind that tightened the air and made even silence feel loud.
"We're here, your grace," Roland whispered, his voice low but steady. "We've reached Dale… the border shire of Meria."
Roland was a man whose appearance often betrayed expectation. Of average height, with piercing blue eyes and long jet-black hair that framed his face like ink on parchment, he possessed features so soft and delicate they bordered on ethereal. Calling him handsome felt insufficient, almost inaccurate. Beautiful was closer to the truth, though he despised the word when used in reference to him.
