It had already been two months, Simon observed as they departed the little town on the prairie. The caravan had set out from Adeluna City, winding its slow way north, trading as it went. A couple weeks ago they had entered the Bohar Plains, swinging east so they could trade with plainsmen and highlanders from the Ancense Mountains as they made for the Virens Forest. Things had been going great until a tribe attacked them on the road, whooping as they shot arrows and threw spears from horseback. In the end the caravan withstood the assault, but many guards had been lost in the process. They had started recruiting at their stops after that, searching for new bodies to fill the boots his comrades had left behind.
The Knight welcomed the extra help, and was amiable to all the new recruits. However the pain of losing his fellows in arms still smarted. He may have known them only a little while, but they had been his friends on this journey nonetheless. It always hurt to lose men in battle, and that hurt made one hesitant to befriend their replacement - for what if they died as well? The pain might be too much to bear. That was why Simon made no effort to get to know those who had recently joined them on this journey, preferring to ride with the leadership at the head of the column.
Count Simon de Montefort was a tall man, six and a half feet in height, broad of shoulder and muscled like a maiden's dream. He sat up straight in the saddle, a sense of graceful pride about him. Of fair complexion, his deep blue eyes shone from underneath a mop of well-kempt dark hair and from above a straight nose and a strong jaw. His tunic, trousers, and cloak were all white wool trimmed in navy blue, matching his bleached leather boots, belt, and pauldrons. At his hip hung an ivory-handled broadsword, on his back a large steel kite shield, enameled white and polished to a mirror sheen. It was trimmed and accented with deep blue tourmaline. Sewn onto his breast was the sigil of his noble house: a waning crescent moon opening into a cluster of three seven-pointed stars, all in silver.
His mount was even more resplendent: a majestic pearl-white unicorn with a high-backed bleached leather style, full barding of white enameled plate, and a caparison of navy blue sporting his silver sigil on either side. The creature was larger, stronger, faster, and more sure-footed than any destrier. And it was no pet - Regio was a lordly creature, and had chosen to bear Simon into tourney and battle out of friendship and love.
The white knight gazed back at the wagon train, and the many fresh faces guarding it. How many have even sword before? he wondered, how many have seen an arrow coming their way? Too few, he suspected. But knowing these wilds, they would find out soon enough.
