75th of Spring, 514 AV
Early Morning
Syna’s rise above the horizon brought with it the songs of birds and the early morning rains. Not the heavy, fat droplets that clung to everything but the soft, light drizzle that scattered rainbows through the clouds and made everything shimmer with a sheen of brilliance.
On this particular day, a rather severe-looking man wearing leather armor and carrying a short sword strapped to his waist cantered up to the gates of Sanctuary on a large bay horse with practiced ease. The horse shook its mane and pawed the ground impatiently as both horse and rider stood before the gates for several chimes. Occasionally, the man ran a hand through his sandy brown hair as dark gray eyes scanned first the horizon, then the closed gates before him.
The man had the air of someone used to getting his own way, and his clean-shaven face had the refined look of a man who’d been raised in an environment of privilege and opportunity. Despite the armor he wore, beneath it poked rather expensive-looking cotton, well-pressed and without a single spot or stain to ruin the façade of wealth and style. The man was certainly well-dressed for somebody who carried a sword, though he was clearly as comfortable with the weapon at his side as he was with the clothes on his back.
Syna continued to climb as he stood before the gates, eyes raking the scene as he continued to wait patiently. Every so often, he reached into the small saddle pouch to his left, retrieving a letter that stated his purpose there at Sanctuary. The City of Kenash had authorized his presence there, but he was not an ambassador. At least, not officially – he was limited in what he could technically compel the city of Kenash to do, but nonetheless he was determined to achieve his goals there that day regardless.
Although outwardly he gave no appearance of annoyance, his jaw set into a firm line after a few more chimes of no activity. For a place that proposed to be a hospital – of sorts, as the man did not really deem animals to be more than livestock, to be traded and sold as any other sort of livestock and only valuable inasmuch as their market price was – it was apparently not particularly hospitable. It was true that he had not made any sort of appointment nor gave any form of advance notice that he was arriving. Nonetheless, he’d expected more activity, or at least someone to greet him at the door.
Finally, after another ten or so chimes of fruitless waiting, the man dismounted and walked up to the gates. Coughing a few times, he raised his chin and shouted, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
