Damon let go of his black warhorse's leather reins. He left the tired horse standing near the water trough. He slowly and silently walked toward the deep, dark shadows of the wooden stables. His right hand rested firmly on the cold iron hilt of his broadsword.
He stepped inside the stables. He narrowed his dark eyes, searching the dark corners carefully. He looked at the empty wooden stalls. He looked at the piles of hay.
Damon walked entirely through the stables and found it completely empty. There was absolutely no one hiding in the dark.
He slowly took his hand off his sword. He let out a quiet breath into the cool night air.
"Maybe I'm seeing things," Damon whispered to himself, shaking his head. He blamed his extreme exhaustion. He had been awake since dawn, fought a political battle with General Howe, and watched a deadly death match. His tired mind must have been playing tricks on him.
But Damon was not seeing things at all.
