The persistent, rhythmic scratch of a steel nib against thick paper was the only sound echoing through Yerel's private study. Late-afternoon light bled through the high arched windows, casting long, sharp shadows across the desk where stacks of territorial tax logs, troop movement ledgers, and southern grain reports sat organized under heavy paperweights.
Karson sat at his own desk near the corner of the grand desk, a stack of documents arranged neatly before him. His short sword rested at his side, while he calmly reviewed the papers in front of him, occasionally glancing toward Yerel whenever his attention was needed. As Yerel's aide, keeping track of his lord's affairs required his constant attention, though he had long grown accustomed to doing so without making a fuss.
