Composed while listening to this.
The end of the day’s march never was quiet. The hustle and bustle of pitching tents, collecting wood for the fire, hobbling horses, spreading out feed, and preparing the meal were all necessary tasks that could not be put off.
But after, once the men fed, the horses watered, and the last tent iron driven… a quiet descended this night. The bonfire still burned high, but quietly, the wood wetter, but not hissing.
Gerolt looked to the sky, where the moon drifted through parted clouds. He had removed his armor some time ago, and felt the cool night breeze on his skin, and stared off into the dark. For a moment, the numbers of accounts and plans of battle were not a puzzle he was tasked with maneuvering. For once in a long while, he was able to contemplate the settling night, and the fire.
The other men of the camp drifted away from the fire to sleep, or to take the first shift of duty. Charles excused himself of the officers first, followed by Jasmine and Tasso. Franz stayed longer, studying his magic, engrossed in the task of preparation. Then the spellbook snapped shut and he withdrew as well.
The harbored plots and plans came back to Gerolt one by one. Thoughts securely locked away at last, he thought, rubbing his ring. How he would deal with the dread necromancer Kel. How he would make payroll in three months. Where he would find a magic sabre. Where would he build a fixed and permanent home for he and his men. Ideas and questions swirled and swam, until he too rose to sleep. The road to Burmstone was long yet. The ride tomorrow that would bring him into Kel’s domain was not know to be safe to travelers.
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