The dawn had not yet broken. The camp was bathed in a bluish twilight where every silhouette seemed dissolved in the mist. The wounded moaned intermittently, the sentries fought off fatigue, and the air smelled of dried blood and smothered smoke.
Zirel tightened the strap of his scabbard and adjusted his travel cloak. His movements were quick, precise, without the slightest hesitation. He didn't need to think: everything had already been considered, weighed, organized during the meeting with Tonar.
Two small squads. One for him, one for Tonar. Objective: head north, to where two teams had disappeared, and verify if Pilaf's shadow already extended there. If yes… then the goal would not be to push back, but to destabilize. Sow confusion, disrupt the advance, buy time.
Their forces were not built for a frontal war. Not yet.
