"So, this is where a guardian is supposed to be. But, where are we?"
The wind howled through the empty and deserted streets. The smell of burnt wood and rotten death was still heavy in the air—something that had taken the young prince by surprise. He, much like the rest of the world, had heard about the invasion—the thousand-man troop led by Huo generals. "I can't believe Jia-Ying would do this—I can't."
"Won't," his companion—a tall man with dark hair and darker eyes—corrected. "The Jia-Ying you remember was a child and, most likely, not the same girl today."
"She's probably hurting too," the prince muttered—his tone defiant. "Anyway, do we have a more specific location?" With the toe of his boot—a handsomely hand-crafted leatherwork—the prince kicked at a piece of split and rotten lumber. All these homes and all these families were gone—erased in the path of war. 'Jia-Ying wouldn't do this. She wouldn't.'
"No, this is as specific as the reader will allow. He should be here somewhere."