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23 - Stella

Snow

"Stay here," his father told her as she ducked behind the bushes.

The patch of land in front of her appeared dry and sturdy but her father told her not to lay a single step on it.

Was it a trap for something? She thought.

The branches and broad leaves above her gave enough shelter from the drizzling rain. She pulled her hood close to her face, she felt the light fabric turn damp. Droplets began to form on the battle armor. Snow inspected her arms where the metal plates moved with the contour of her body. Although there wasn't much flesh to cling to, the armor fit her snug. It was almost comfortable.

And as she heard the footsteps of her father vanish, Snow began to enumerate in her head the orders she was given.

It was her first day as his beta. She could not afford to mess this up.

She will be introduced to the Crusaders by her father. She will remain hidden, will not speak to any living soul, not even a familiar wolf - which was highly unlikely in her opinion.

The Crusaders will be identified by the number on their dominant arm. I, II, III. - and so on.

They will appear in battle armor much similar to what she was wearing. They'll keep their faces hidden. Snow was not to ask questions, nor talk to any Crusader if she stumbles upon one.

Her task was simple. Keep an eye out for a Rogue. If she finds one she'll lead it towards the patch of land in front of her.

Snow already had an idea what the patch of land was. She had to be sure.

She picked up a rock, its edges smooth forming a cold circular weight on her palm. It was fairly heavy.

She tossed it in front of her, being cautious not to rustle the leaves of the bush. The stone landed on the sand. Her eyes widened as it rippled thick waves, consuming the stone whole.

Quicksand.

She sunk back into the shrubbery, looking through the spaces between the thin stems. The only thing she had to do now was fight sleep.

Torryn

The ground was soft with mud, the air reeked of sulfur.

Torryn held the mask to his face, letting the thick fabric touch against his nose. It was past sunrise when he arrived at the Crusaders camp. It rained all night throughout his journey. He extended both palms on the fire and warmed his skin. He'll be needing a place to dry his armor.

Amarkand is a wasteland. What used to be a fertile haven, now a rotting wilderness. Dispersed in the woods, are swamps slithering with creatures of the dark. The lands studded with quicksand and mud piles. Beyond the remaining tree trunks that stood, a valley wide and barren lay on the far side. The bubbling springs of crude murky water made the air humid. The scent was putrid like rotting flesh. Torryn thought it made breathing difficult. He coughed against his mask as the rest of the Crusaders landed a firm tap on his back. They knew he was a newcomer. His lungs weren't used to the chemicals yet.

Just as he arrived, the Crusaders were tracking an intruder. The Rogue has reached the woods far beyond the border and it was their duty to either place him back to his territory or dispose of him. The intruder has caused a nearby wolf pack three months worth of produce in the hay fields. Despite Spring Solstice, disruption of property was strictly unacceptable. Crossing the border was only meant for business, trading engagements and nothing more while the solstice lasts.