Fenn stepped through the tent's entrance, and his initial impression was complitely different to what he had expected. Instead of the grandeur or luxurious sophistication he thought might belong to a commander's quarters, the tent was shockingly bare. There were no tables laden with maps, no racks of polished weapons, and no ornate furnishings. The ground was covered with little more than a few scattered patches of straw and dirt, except for a modest fur thrown across one corner, serving as a makeshift bed.
Beside the fur lay a sword still in its scabbard and an axe , casually discarded as though they were an afterthought rather than the primary tools of war. Fenn's gaze lingered on it for a moment, noting its worn leather grip, before returning to the man sprawled on the fur.
