The cold air outside Baron Loghlan's tent bit at Ollie's exposed skin with sharp teeth, cold enough that each time he exhaled, it created small clouds of mist that hung in the air before dissipating into the darkness. The fires scattered throughout the camp provided just enough light to see by, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the trampled grass and muddy ground.
After the unnatural quiet of the tent, cut off from the sounds outside, the camp felt unreasonably loud. Men called to each other as they went about the chores of the evening, horses standing in neat rows whinnied under the gentle touch of their handlers, fires crackled and popped, filling the air with woodsmoke and other, more tantalizing aromas.
