"Good on you," Fig says, clapping you on the shoulder.
Near dawn two days hence, you and Brute pile into one of the many carts bound for Gallibran. Sober well-wishers line the northern road on both sides, cheering your journey.
Onward
Your pace is slow to start with, and you are frequently thronged with peasants who call the Crown Lands home; desperate they are for reassurance and royal attention in uncertain times. Consequently, 'tis midday the next day when you arrive in the damaged hamlet of Gallibran.
Truth be told, the damage is not as extensively visible as you might have anticipated. The thorp of Harthorn near your family's land often looked thus unkempt on a regular day, if its denizens were lax about tending their thatch or repairing their sheds. But the people who come running up to meet you are so clearly shaken that your can tell the injuries, loss of life, and sense of violation they experienced with Hotfoot's aggression go more than skin deep.
Onward