White Horse Kingdom, Storm Territory.
The carrier pigeon of Grayston, White Horse Kingdom, had grown itself a thick coat of gray feathers in preparation for the coming autumn.
It beat its wings with all its might, flying over the boundless Golden Ear Plain, leaving behind a tiny moving gray speck beneath the azure sky.
After crossing a birch forest, the pigeon found Arthur's group of three resting at a campsite on a grassy meadow beside a babbling brook.
Dawn had only just broken. Count Bran stood on Arthur's shoulder, dozing off, his little head dipping lower and lower, but the fluttering of this "uninvited guest's" wings soon jolted him awake.
He shook his head, instantly shedding all sleepiness. At the sight of the gray pigeon attempting to land, he immediately became alert, his black eyes filled with scrutiny.
He kicked Arthur's helmet with his claws, making a faint sound of warning.
Before Arthur could ask anything, Grann had already moved first, extending his arm to let the gray pigeon land steadily on the leather guard around his forearm.
With an apologetic smile, he explained to the wary Count Bran and Arthur, who was looking over at him:
"Your Excellencies need not worry. It is merely a messenger delivering news."
As he spoke, he deftly removed the metal cylinder tied to the gray pigeon's ankle and drew out a small rolled-up letter.
Then he narrowed his eyes and lowered his head, carefully reading it by the steadily brightening morning light.
A few seconds later, when he raised his head again, there was already a trace of poorly concealed surprise in his gaze.
He looked toward Arthur and Calvin, who had kept his arms folded and his eyes closed in rest. "According to the news I have just received, it seems your