When night finally fell, the raiding party sought refuge within a series of narrow ravines that cut through the mountain paths. Rather than establishing tents, the men made do with the natural shelter.
All around Hermi, the First Detachment began the ritual of settling for the night. She watched as the men struck flint against steel, coaxing one campfire after another to life across the rocky floor.
Since the kingdom no longer harbored a single living tree, there was no wood or charcoal to be found. Instead, the men of Ferramonte relied on oil-soaked sunstones to keep the flames alive.
While the five squads that made up the detachment clustered around their respective campfires, the ten squires hurried among them, unpacking the rations and drinks with a frantic haste.
For dinner, the menu was tragically uninspired: dry, tooth-cracking biscuits and strips of salted venison that looked as though they had been cured during the previous century.
