"Yeah, that's the one. The one you never talk about but keep seeing every time you look at the snow."
Lindarion's jaw flexed slightly. "She doesn't belong in a place like Dythrael's prison."
"Neither does your mother."
"No," Lindarion said quietly. "Neither of them do."
The fire popped. Sparks lifted and vanished into the night.
Across the camp, soldiers murmured in low voices. Some were Lorienyan elves, others human officers who had followed him since the fall of Eldorath.
They were hardened now, far from the clean-armored ideal of royal legions, but there was pride in them still. Lindarion had earned that. Not with speeches, but with presence.
Nysha approached silently from the dark, her crimson eyes glinting faintly. "Perimeter secure," she said. "The men will rest in shifts. Scouts report movement near the river, nothing close yet."
Lindarion nodded once. "Good. Keep two wings ready before dawn."
She lingered a moment longer, studying him. "You haven't slept."
