The command pavilion stood at the highest point of Handh's western wall.
Thane stood slowly from the crushing pain.
"Stop it, General Cameron." Said the man with blonde hair.
Thane's gaze instinctively drifted toward him.
General Moses Whitcomb.
He had expected an old veteran with a weathered face and grey beard.
Instead, the man seated before him looked scarcely older than thirty.
His features were unremarkable, neither handsome nor plain.
The sort of face one could pass in a crowded street and forget within minutes.
His blond hair was trimmed neatly behind his ears, and unlike Cameron's warrior frame, Moses possessed the lean build of a scholar rather than a conqueror.
Only one thing betrayed his true station. Seven perfectly straight lines adorned his face.
Another Titled General, the realization unsettled Thane more than he wished to admit.
Two Seven-Lined Blessed, sitting together as though discussing the weather.
