Persistent, nagging worry plagues Khatar. There are many questions that swarm his mind; will Tianlong notice his absence? What would they do to him, to Batu, or to Saikhanbayar if they knew the rumblings of betrayal?

Umber prince rides across the plains on swift feet, following Batu.

Khatar has little to himself other than a name and royal lineage. There has been no formal training for him, not since he was spindly legged, gangly and awkward to gaze at. His skills have been honed by the unscrupulous ones of the world; by roadside bandits he fought in defense of a caravan, by bastards as he held the line of a foreign royal, by those who hired him as a cheap sellsword.

Some prince, indeed.

It is the sight of the herd that eases his mind. It is not his father’s, but their hooves as the thunder of the steppes soothes the soul. A smile almost takes his face. A tail sweeps his hock as he approaches and listens.

I can assist with the entry points. I do not believe the kin of Tianlong suspect me, he assures Batu.