He knew that he was being followed.

The pale moon hung heavily in the sky as the night wore on, casting everything in long grey shadows. Winter had come to the outlands; no snow yet lay on the ground, but the leaves had all fallen from the trees, and the ground was cracked from the freezing temperatures that crept across the land at night. There was no color on a night like this, no colors on the trees with the leaves fallen, and all else washed away in the light of the Deadmoon.

Mist formed from each breath before him as the great destrier beneath him plodded onward towards their destination. The horse seemed nervous, and his horse was rarely ever nervous. The city of Calessa still lay at least a league away, and they were already in danger.

It seemed that he was always in danger.

"Come, Tyral." He urged the horse onward in a low tone, and despite the cold, the great beast managed to pick up its pace.

He rode onward through the starkly bare trees, casting his eyes about him at all times, expecting that any moment they might attack from the shadows. Traveling at night was a dangerous pastime, and most of those who tried it would fall prey to the horrific creatures that prowled the outlands in the moonlight.

At last, the great stone walls of Calessa hove into view. He had found refuge at last, a savior from the bitter cold. He could see smoke curling lazily upward from chimneys and lights, though they were few indeed, this close to dawn.

The walls seemed to grow to an immense height as he approached them. It had escaped him just how high the walls of the city were, built of thick and hardened stone to protect against the horrors that lay just outside them. The dusty road upon which he traveled led straight to the vast wooden gates that admitted visitors into the city.