Fall in Spring

Arrival in Anvil

The dawn breaks in hues of pink and gold - a glorious morning if there ever was one. Rhoswyn stands beside Solene D'Alba as they reach the summit of a hill overlooking fields and there just on the horizon, lies the tent city of Anvil. By nightfall, all being well, they would inside its walls.

Excitement buzzes inside Rhoswyn, but trepidation too. She doesn't know what to expect. Growing up, her parents had told her stories of Anvil, the people that congregated there from each of the ten nations, the traders and taverns and warriors seeking glory on the battlefield. In the years since she had left home, had wandered the empire - from the Spires of Urizen to the harsh landscapes of Wintermark, Anvil had been the one place Rhoswyn had never set foot.

Until now.

But then, until a week or two ago, Rhoswyn hadn't even considered coming to Anvil this season. Most of her focus had been on Overton before it's fall helping out with healing those in need, and then during her escape, her only intent had been to get out of the Marches alive. If it hadn't been for the chance meeting with Solene, she would have likely been carrion on the side of the road by now.

Rhoswyn gazes at the tiny dots of distant tents, silhouetted against the sky. She can't believe they're finally here, that she was finally going to see what her parents had told her stories of, would it be as glorious as they had described?

She wondered if Wynn would be there, it had been awhile since she had heard from her friend, there hadn't been much chance to send letters whilst she had been in Overton, and next to none on the road since. Maybe, she should send him a letter once they arrived.

She remembers others Wynn had mentioned. He's hall, The Broken Willow, and also a mysterious Wintermark wanderer that he's letters mentioned so much of. Were they here too?

'Come, Rhos, we should be able to make it by early evening,' says Solene with a smile. There's excitement in the Earl's eyes, her smile is infectious and Rhoswyn can't help but smile back.

The sun starts to peek over the horizon, its rays dancing amongst the morning mists, promising another sweltering day. Rhoswyn hitches her pack on her back and follows the Earl of D'Alba towards Anvil and the last leg of their journey.

#

It's early evening when they reach the gates to the sprawling encampment. Tents of all different shapes, sizes and colours are spread across a large field, banners, and pennants flapping in the slight breeze.

As they step over the threshold, Rhoswyn pauses, taking in the sights and sounds. From the sight of the Sentinel Gate at one end to the clearly marked Dawnish encampment at the other - it was huge, far larger than anything Rhoswyn had ever expected or dreamt of.

She lets Solene lead the way, rambling about Lucy (who Rhoswyn had now learnt was the Earl's brother), and how he was back home sulking ('well, someone needs to stay and look after the business') or pointing out various notable tents, ('the traders are that way, they're very good if you need something last minute!'), as they walk. Rhoswyn barely pays any attention, too distracted by her surroundings.

Every tent they pass seems to be teeming with life, adults talking over tea or mead, the children playing at their feet. Next to the horrors she'd witnessed in the final days before Overton's fall, it was peaceful. It felt ... safe, magical even - ten nations all together living side-by-side peacefully. This was how a city should be, Rhoswyn thinks.

And if this was where she had to spend the rest of her time, it wouldn't be a bad thing at all.