Neverwinter Forest sarsen moon

Twice he snaps with repressive teeth at the air near goat hocks, readying his alms for their new master. When he turns back he sees the girl, still in her youth, silver fur bright in a slip of light over noble sleekness. A wanting muscle stirs a step, searching briefly for evidence of her squadron in the trees. But it is only she, a dark minaret silhouetted against the light a single warm beam. 

“Hej,” the mongol greets in heavily accented traveler’s-tongue. “I wish for an audience with your leader. I bring a message of rapport from Qaidu, Khan of the High Steppe.” His eyes glint. The goat protests.

“And dinner.”