Men hustled and moved about the camp, some men preparing their armor, others their weapons or food. Fires smoked and cracked, sending ashes into the dusky sky. The sun was just beginning to come up over the peaks, gracing the land with a beautiful red glow.
Two men sat beside a small fire, one eating a bowl of hot oats, the other running the smooth whetstone across the sword that lay gently in his lap. Urses spoke, his mouth still full of oats. "I wonder if they will be expecting us, like at the river bed. We cannot take losses like that again, we barely made it out as it is."
Druhd nodded and spoke over the gentle ring of the stone softly grinding across the metal. "You speak the truth. I over heard one of the bowmen talking, seems there are few there still burying our dead, and our numbers far surpass that of the easterlings. They want to strike soon, when the night is darkest"
Urses chewed another spoonful of the oats slowly, looking over to Druhd with a raised brow. "At night eh? Surely the camp is not that large? Scouts from the villages would have surely seen them if there numbers were so great?"
The man nodded as he continue to run the stone along the edge of the blade. "Aye, surely they would have. I do not feel safe here, knowing my lass is back home." Druhd looked to Urses, his expressions had become grim and strong as he continued to speak. "Iffin' I don't come back lad, make sure non'a those east men get back home. I might see them on their decent while I ascend." The man laughed and shoved Urses, who by now was choking on his oats.
"Aye brother, I will make sure yeh lass is fine, you'll come home though, worry not. Together we will fill the firey unde rhalls with their souls, and these fields with their dead." Urses raised a wooden cup filled with goats milk, toasting to him before drinking half of it and setting it aside.
Druhd laughed and nudged him again. "Aye brother, trample the weak, hurdle the dead."
