It comes to him as dawn rises over the lake. The water steaming gently as it warms, as though the lake itself breathes. This early in a cool autumn morning the birds are only beginning to wake. A single heron flies with deliberate strokes along the edge of the shore, grey bird against misted water, coming to land with surprising grace.
The heron finds its fishing spot and freezes.Tarchlang watches the bird, looks over the lake. The solitude oddly magnified by the presence of one fishing bird.
The sound of the horses' hooves echoed eerily between the barely visible ruined walls, the only light showing the riders the overgrown path were the stars in the clear sky. Both the horses and their riders were exhausted, the orcs had pursued them for over a day. This was their first opportunity to rest. Everyone were tense, sitting rigid in their saddles, their hands never straying far from their weapons. They'd all had enough surprises to last them till the end of the year.