The frost had come in hard overnight. The horse lines were iced at the trough edges and the grass beyond the earthworks stood white and stiff in the early light.
Batu walked the northern face of the fortifications and felt the cold carrying a different quality than it had carried during the crossing, during the battle, during the weeks of raiding. The flat smell of it sat in the air.
The camp was running its morning routine. Penk's relay pairs were on their routes, their horses' breath rising white. The outer screen had gone out before the frost lifted.
Since the road engagement, Berke had sent riders north twice, each time a small probing body that reached Kirsa's outer screen, found it solid, and came back south with nothing.
Each time they returned without contact, the picture Berke held of the camp's position ran on what his riders had failed to find.
