A movement on the Western horizon drew her eye, a solitary horse and rider. It was an unusual sight for the marshland which lay between the Hadrans and the lush plains of Medyrsalve was unpopulated and rarely travelled. Her attention was held by this diversion from the dangerous monotony that was everyday life in Dwarfport. The horse trotted briskly, but not too brisk, for the rider sat slumped in the saddle, arms down, hands resting, no leaning on the horse’s neck. The white steed coated in the dust and grime of a hard ride, picked its way with intricate steps along the twisting path through the saturated marshland. The fatigued pair were working their way unerringly towards her shack, but she felt no apprehension and only an incidental curiosity. As they drew closer she recognised the elven make of the rider’s armour, picked out the grey beard streaked with dirt. A murmur of recognition crossed her mind. Ten yards short of her doorstep the elf stopped and dismounted. Shielding his eyes to see into the shade he drew closer, returning her visual scrutiny in kind.
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