luck was bad enough.
So Aedion continued, alone, to the front
lines. Two Bane soldiers stepped aside to
make room, and Aedion hefted up his shield,
seamlessly fitting it between their unified
front. The metal wall against which Morath
would strike first, and hardest.
The snows swirled, veiling all beyond a
hundred or so feet.
Yet the bone drums pounded louder. Soon
the earth shook beneath marching feet.
Their final stand, here on an unnamed field
before the Florine. How had it come to this?
Aedion drew his sword, the other soldiers
following suit, the cry of ringing metal cutting
through the howling wind.
Morath appeared, a line of solid black
emerging from the snow.
Each foot they gained, more appeared
behind. How far back was that witch tower?
lily
(lily)
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