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The sunlight blinds Neesa, but finally, the ground beneath is still.
Someone speaks her name. The silhouette is pale and well-figured, reaching out her hand.
But the light recedes: the woman's hair, her clothes are dark. Neesa steps into stance.
"Who are you?"
"Callo Merlose. Formerly VKP." The blond child behind her legs needs no introduction. He stares at Neesa. "No one expected us to survive."
The collapsed wine cellar entrance is a cairn. Neesa has no commander, and her lady is surely dead.
"The roads are rough," Neesa says, rock dust in her mouth. "You will need a guard."