With a lightened heart, having at least partially come to turns with the past he left behind, Teret Feron, now Glamorfell nobility, general to his prince’s army, sets his sights forward upon the horizon. The intervening year that has past did nothing to erode the unflinching and unquenchable spirit within. Though most days were spent assisting with order, he found plenty of time and necessity to see to the lands they were now claiming. Farms of the land, men, women and children; forging the destiny of the kingdom. Bulwarks suggested to the smaller settlements. Defensive training and basic drills for those who wanted it. Passing on the lessons learned with the defense of the ragtag outpost that was Oleg’s. The land would learn to protect itself, its people investing in what they would receive, taking pride. All the while, within him, he found himself changing. His loyalty, long to himself first, as his own master, now came to the land. To the people, he met, who lived as best they could, searching for their own freedom. He understood them on a very basic level, he had been them. Reaping and sowing the land, eking out his existence from the pile of mud he had started in. Somewhere in realizing this, what last little bit of his soul that held back from the Council, the Tetrarch that had formed at the heart of Glamorfell, fell away. He felt within him a renewed sense of justice, of honor. Purpose. Within him, as he had in younger years, he dedicated himself to his Lord, Sayd Krynn of Kaer Maga. His brothers and sisters — Walorin, Kaede, Yelenya — became his family. His circle. The intervening year changed him in ways he never expected, and with his 20th year marked on a calendar somewhere, he stopped being the selfish loner he was when thrust upon this scene. He grew up.
His correspondence took a different tone as well. No longer felt the need to send the friendly note, hoping to keep a fragile friendship intact. He now had spoken for hundreds, and then thousands. As a voice for the people, though he acknowledged, not the loudest, he spoke with a bit more tact. He kept relations with Varnhold, as it was established and flourished. He sent correspondence to his Lord Varn, and his daughter quarterly, suggesting that when the city of Foundlings Reach was of proper fit, he would ask for them, sp to visit, and take her on a tour of the countryside. To the Lady Lebeda, Elanna, he too wrote. Wishing her well in her future, hoping to maintain a dialogue. Though the language was not suggestive, he was not explicit in his language. He left things open ended. He kept his options open, knowing that his heart would find solace in his duty, his duty would be to his people. He would lead until his death, but he would seek to ensure his line.