Sela mustered to guard mount to see a full extra complement of guards at the Riverfolk shack. He didn’t start getting nervous until a second complement waited inside in formation.

“Sela! You’re late, what’s the matter, otter got your tongue?”

His Sergeants joke made the group ripple with guffaws until a glance made them all stand at attention, silent again.

“You were doing so well, I was going to put you on the barons detail-“ The sergeant said, eying him up,”but instead you’ll be following around some ambassador. Their chief of staff is waiting over there. Make us proud.”

The sergeant waved a hand to a creature shrouded in purpled black beyond where he could see. The only think that Sela could catch was a large protruding underfang and warm breath in the chill harvest air.

Sela snapped a crisp salute, and queued up for his club and belt.

The logistics sergeant, a beaver, nodded to Sela. He wore all the newest gear and his brass buttons shone like he’d been up all night polishing them.

“I’m really sorry about this one mate, but the sergeant heard you’ve been practicing with the sword a lot, he’s thinking you’re going off to be a ranger at the end of the season, so he’s giving you the worst posting.”

“Understood,” Sela said,”I may just do that if I keep getting these posts.”

Sela winked to the dumbstruck beaver and he walked with purpose over to the creature.