A few tens of minutes later at the South drawbridge of Lodunvals.
The night was well on its way and the first light of dawn was already coming through. Since Jake's departure, there had been no newcomers to check on, which was quite normal at an hour when most humans were supposed to be sleeping.
As the red sun became fully defined on the horizon, tinting the sky a range of colors from near-scarlet orange to magenta verging on purple, the first ox-drawn wagon and an early-morning driver showed up at the other end of the cobblestone road.
Inside the cart, under a thick burlap cloth, a dozen refugees were packed together, still shaking with fear after what they had been through. If Jake had been there, he would have recognized some of the many villagers he had rescued during the night.
