The sound of hoofs echoed off the cobblestone road leading up to the castle as Ysaac squeezed his heels together, speeding the horse along. He was running late. He had expected to get there the day before and catch up with his old friend, but a border skirmish had delayed his departure from Lower South Splaxok. So he had risen ahead of his envoy which was weighted down by his luggage, and pushed his horse to make up for the lost time. 
Leaning back, the reigns slowed the horse as it came up to the castle gate. He was cautious as he had expected to be met by the usual guards, but there were none here. They must have been preoccupied with something else. This worried Ysaac. With this much royalty he expected much more security. Something must be happening. Dismounting, he rubbed the Buckskin Destrier between its eyes. “Stay, Butternut.” The horse whinnied in response. He was late to the party, but he had finally showed up.