It was the sixth day since Velin had left.
The ceaseless, dreary rain had finally stopped, but the sky remained a leaden gray.
The military camp outside Light City had turned into a mire.
New recruits slogged through the mud as they sparred, their longspears thudding against wooden shields.
Diana stood on a high platform, clad in light chainmail, not uttering a word.
She had been standing there all morning.
A cold wind swept by. In the distance, a few soldiers on logistics duty huddled together, necks sunk into their shoulders, whispering amongst themselves.
"Look at our Countess. She's really fallen for it. Is it worth all this for some 'swamp deserter'?"
"Keep it down! You want to get assigned to muck out the stables all night?"
"What's there to be afraid of? The whole city's saying it. That Velin fellow has our Countess wrapped around his little finger, and he's long gone. Poor us, we're the ones stuck out here in the cold wind."
