The wind in the South was warmer.
It carried the scent of the sea and dry grass, so different from the cold air of the royal city.
By the time Edward and the few men who remained loyal to him reached the gates of the Seventh Region, their clothes were covered in dust. Their horses were tired. So were they.
Before them stood the tall stone gates of the southern stronghold. Banners fluttered above the walls, marked with the sigil of the southern lord.
Edward pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Though he tried to sit straight on his horse, the long journey had worn him down.
As they approached, the guards on the walls noticed them.
"Stop right there!" one of the gate guards shouted.
Several armed men stepped forward, blocking the entrance with their spears.
"State your names and purpose!" another demanded.
