45 – . . . who might be King
Well into the fens, the waterway they traveled was nearly indiscernible from the surrounding bog, at least to Branwhyn, but Leon seemed to know the route well. A clear sign of one who had spent their life in the flooded lands. When they came within view of Greymoor, the grey of dusk hadn’t quite turned to twilight and the buzzing biting insects that drifted in cloud-like swarms hadn’t yet fled the growing chill of night. The settlement was surrounded by a palisade of grey sharpened logs which jutted outward like spears set against a charge. The waterway upon which they traveled, led straight to an opening in the palisade, a net of soaked hemp fibers barred the way. Through it, they could see the settlement was actually built upon a lake and the palisade built upon the shore. Behind the fortifications were wooden houses, raised on stilts above the water and would serve as excellent vantage points to fire an arrow against any would-be attacker. A curious defensive solution, forcing movement inside to be by boat or by swimming.
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