The bronze courier tube sat upon the clinic porch table, its wax seal bearing the official crest of the capital.
Marrick kept the casualty names beside the signatures, preventing the victory account from swallowing the people it cost.
Two lathered messenger horses rested by the stone water trough, their flanks still steaming from the hard northern ride.
The royal courier stood waiting on the gravel path below, his dust-stained riding coat reflecting days of exhausting travel.
Townsfolk gathered quietly along the road verges, curious to learn what official dispatches the capital rider carried through the pass.
The crisp mountain air carried the scent of woodsmoke as the gathering crowd watched the unrolling parchment in silence.
Marrick broke the imperial wax with a small bone knife, unrolling the thick parchment scroll across the flat surface.
