To Whitehearth
Tycondrius insisted that Januarius continue to rest at least until his fever died down. With Guild Metal Wolf being his latest investment, he wanted to ensure that their founding leader could travel the plains to Whitehearth without *dying*.
It took two suns, a process expedited by the Highblades' healers and a lovely Elven recipe for poultry and herb soup.
The Elven city lied just beyond the rocky hills. On account of the injured, however, the pace of the march and the time traveled per sun was largely reduced. Still, with not even half a century remaining, personnel accountability and general upkeep were managed quickly, somewhat making up for time lost.
Optio Phaedra took charge.
It seemed she was still embarrassed for her earlier actions against him, as she rejected all of Tycon's well-meaning attempts at casual conversation.
He decided not to hold it against her.