The day Jerrick was to leave for war arrived far too soon for Jessamyn's liking. Despite the knot of anxiety twisting in her stomach, she kept her emotions in check as she stood by his side.
The morning air was crisp, a faint mist hovering over the fields surrounding Roche. Jerrick's soldiers, clad in their dark, formidable armor, moved with quiet efficiency as they prepared to march.
Jessamyn took a deep breath and offered Jerrick a kerchief she had embroidered with his family's crest. She had worked on it late into the nights, stitching each thread with care and affection. As she handed it to him, she was surprised by the absence of the fear she used to feel when they faced separation.
There was a time when she would have been consumed by doubts and the gnawing fear of abandonment. But now, as she looked up into Jerrick's steadfast green eyes, all she felt was trust—trust that he would return to her.
