A lone carriage rumbled along a dirt path, its wheels creaking softly against the uneven ground.
The sky above was clear, early morning mist still clinging to the edges of the forest lining the road.
Inside the carriage, a young man lounged with his legs crossed, Renard, dressed in fine but rumpled clothes, one elbow propped against the window, his chin resting against his gloved fist.
Across from him sat a man in armor, his posture straighter, older, and more weathered.
One of his personal guards.
"Young master, what about the slave girl?" the guard asked, voice low.
Renard didn't even glance at him. His eyes were fixed on the passing trees. "Doesn't matter. We'll send someone later to inform them what happened. Or lie. Whatever works. They can have her for now, I just want to see how she will endure that baron, heh."
The guard said nothing.
