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arms. May you help us free all of Wealdland with honor.”
    The soldiers all dropped to one knee and swore fealty to Arnwylf.
    “See that they are fed and made to feel comfortable with the troops,” Arnwylf said to Husvet.
    Then, Arnwylf turned to Geleiden. “Discreetly see if any more information may be gleaned from these men. I do not want spies in our midst.”
    Geleiden saluted and stalked away.
    Then a muttering arose from the whole army as a lanky member of the Messenger Guild arrived with a bursting leather satchel.
    “Hermergh!” Arnwylf cried with pleasure to the arriving courier.
    “Lord Arnwylf,” Hermergh said, and bowed. Arnwylf bit his lip.
    “I have many missives for many soldiers,” Hermergh continued, “And one specially for the general.” With that, Hermergh handed a sealed envelope to Arnwylf, and then began dispersing other letters to the troops.
    Arnwylf took the letter into his tent. It was from Frea.
    “My love,” she wrote, “I miss you every day. I long to see your beautiful face, and yearn to hear your voice. Please take a day or more to visit here in New Rogar Li. I miss you so. Ronenth sees to my every need, but I fear that he longs for what he cannot have, my love, which I freely give to you. Yours eternally, Frea.”
    Arnwylf smiled a wry smile, then took up pen and paper.
    “Frea,” he wrote, “the battle to reclaim the Mattear Gram continues, and I will never abandon the quest to retrieve it. Let Ronenth know he has a right to pursue his dream, as does every human of Wealdland. Arnwylf.”
    Arnwylf sealed the letter. Then he thought better of sending it, and held the letter to a flame.
    “Better to say nothing, than hurtful words,” Arnwylf said to himself.
    Then, Arnwylf put down his quill, and from amongst his belongings, he pulled out a strand of woven fibers Frea had made for him when they were still children in Bittel, their home village. His mind went back to the day when, with sunlight haloing her flame red hair, she had carefully put the strand into his hands. 
    Frea was a beautiful girl. Her nose was straight, angular and small, her face lightly freckled. Her skin was fair and pale like the finest alabaster. Her cheekbones were high and finely swept up to her eyes. The line of her neck was graceful and athletic. Her chin and jaw were firm, but not too masculine. Her eyes were a fine, sky blue. Her lips were a pink, the color of the simple, five petaled roses that grew in long, spiky vines in Bittel in the summer. Her hair was flame red, and lightly curled. She never cut or styled it, so her long hair whipped around her gorgeous head like a nimbus of fire. Her fingers were long and thin. And although she bit her fingernails, her hands were always graceful and poised.
    Arnwylf put his face in his hands with the painful memory of the girl he loved.
    “Arnwylf,” Husvet called from without. “Your meal.”
    “Bring it in, please,” Arnwylf said.
    Husvet, followed by Conniker, brought into the tent a humble portion of stew and bread. “There is more, if you want it,” Husvet said.
    “No more or less than any soldier in this army,” Arnwylf said, taking the meal and giving half the bread to his wolf.
    Husvet smiled. “There is still this matter of the new wolf.”
    “If they truly wish to join the Brotherhood,” Arnwylf said between mouthfuls, “they will have patience. Please sit,” Arnwylf said to Husvet.
    Husvet found a wooden box on which to sit.
    “Have you eaten?” Arnwylf asked, offering to share his meal.
    “I have,” Husvet said holding up his hand, but even if he was starving he wouldn’t have taken anything.
    “Tell me,” Arnwylf said, “what is your opinion of the divisions that still remain amongst the humans of Wealdland?”
    “Well,” Husvet scratched his dark hair, “all humans feel a need to belong to the land and nation of their birth. But with the shattering of all nations recently, new factions and alliances are springing up in