Triduum
The Brecon Beacons, circa 40 C.E.
The breeze sweeping over the black mountains brings a welcome change to many long weeks staring past corners of the cargo ship’s sail. Here at the edge of the world, the air is not just cooler, but thinner, closer to the unfamiliar stars. John Mark stands, grateful for the gift of catching his breath. His hands move to the satchel bound close to his side. He unwinds the leather folds, removing a simple weapon from its sheath. The motion sends a single red kite leaping into the air, where she circles above the snapping battle standards to the east, ascending.
