Dara glanced back at Anthierin and Cresty, who were still standing near the pulsating invisible barrier of the tower. "We need to speak privately," she said, her tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
Flinn looked at the two women, then back to Dara. The usual jittery, complaining facade completely fell away, replaced by the grim posture of a man who knew his running room had finally run out. "Fine," he muttered.
Leaving the rest of the vanguard behind, the two walked a short distance away to a solitary, wide-branched tree standing on the edge of the sunlit meadows. The rustling leaves provided just enough cover to drown out their voices from the camp.
Dara reached into her travel coat and pulled out a crisp, heavy parchment envelope. Without a word, she extended her hand, offering it to him.
As Flinn reluctantly took the parchment, Dara turned her gaze away, looking out across the vast, rolling green meadows that stretched toward the northern horizons.
