Lyra. Chapter 3. The Stranger at the Door
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The festival had burned down to embers when the rider came. A lean man leading a tired horse, gear strapped to its back for mending — a cuirass, a helm, a lance. No squire, no banner. Only a sword he kept better than himself. Garren met him at the door with his arms crossed, the way you meet armed men you don't know. Neither reached for a weapon. That was the whole of the welcome.
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Vom Autor versteckt
Prompt-Helfer
Verwendetes Modell und LoRA
2 private models used