The Lag'ranna Mountains slept beneath a silver moon, their peaks glimmering faintly under the pale light. The winds whispered low across the ridges, carrying with them the scent of wood, mud, and campfire smoke.
Far below, the camp of the Winters host sprawled like a glowing constellation against the dark. Hundreds of small fires dotted the wide plains, illuminating rows of tents arranged in meticulous order. Banners of blue and silver fluttered lazily in the night air.
Laughter drifted faintly between the tents. A group of young soldiers huddled around a dice game, the clack of bone on wood breaking the monotony of the quiet.
"Double sixes," one cried, grinning wide. "You owe me a mug when we reach the next town, Ryn!"
"You cheat even worse than the mages," Ryn grumbled, tossing the dice back. "Bet you've got a charm hidden somewhere."
"Charm? From who, the Countess?" another soldier laughed. "Maybe if you're lucky, she'll let you polish her staff."
