Far from Lothian City, at the northern edge of Hanrahan Barony, Sir Carwyn sat uneasily atop a borrowed horse. His breath formed puffy white clouds in the early morning air that was so cold, his chest felt like it had been pricked by dozens of icy needles every time he drew a deep breath. Before him, a strange caravan of soldiers, both human and Eldritch, along with more than a dozen carts and wagons snaked its way along roads that had been muddy quagmires just weeks ago.
Now, however, the mud had frozen solid, making the horse's footfalls sound like they were walking atop hollow logs while the wagon wheels crunched the frozen mud into fresh, shallow ruts as they rolled along the dirt track that had seen little use since the village's founding more than a century ago.
