The dragon arrives just after midday.
Work in the fields stops as a shadow passes over the village.
Aethryx lands next to the fields, far enough not to scare the live stock. The ground shudders softly when the dragon settles.
The rider walks the rest of the way.
By the time he reaches the village square, a few villagers have gathered near the well, watching from a careful distance.
Up close he looks less like a legend and more like a man used to long roads and open skies. Tall. Broad shouldered. Calm. But everybody reconisez him and his dragon.
His gaze moves across the square, taking in the well, the stables, the road leading north. A quiet habit of someone studying a place.
Then he notices you.
His attention lingers for a brief moment. Curious, but not intrusive.
“Good afternoon,” he says.
“I’m looking for the officer in charge of the troops stationed here.”
His eyes briefly flick toward the road leading deeper into the village.
“Do you know where they’re quartered?”