It had been a long tiresome ride Spencer had endured. What what his purpose? Why was he riding south bound along the roads of these new lands? What irked him into this spur of southern exploration? It did not matter no longer, simply the long trudge ahead.
Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, clouding his vision in damp spots. His mail links chattered and clinked to the tolls and hymns of bells. The leather gambeson around his chest had become straining, tightening around his chest under the blaze of a summer heat. It did not help the fact bulbs of iron and silver decorated the hide's plaster. His soft blue tunic under all the padding and metal had become wet with the bodily fluid of fatigue.
The smell was somewhat bearable...
A patch of birch now shaded the weary Spencer, ahead of him, his destination and new home...
The Whispering Crossroads.
((Art by Dominik Mayer))