Imperial Calendar, October 6, 1444, early morning, 440 miles away from Joan of Arc Castle.
A sharp whistle sounded in the campsite, signaling morning prayers, as per the schedule, the vast citizens of the Pope Country needed to wake up at this time.
The first light of gold appeared, and milky white smoke rose straight up to the sky from beneath the food tents.
The elders of the Pope Country emerged from the straw huts, keeping their faces taut to maintain dignity, blowing the whistles in their mouths, commanded their fifty or sixty citizens to get up.
Soldiers in black cloaks stepped out of the camp, and villagers wearing various clothes also emerged from the straw huts.
They shivered, forming a few ranks in the chilly air, and under the lead of the elders, walked towards the food tents.
It was another new day.
Morning prayer, feeding the horses, treading songs, breakfast.
Everything proceeded in an orderly manner, almost becoming a mechanical routine.
