Night fell like a blade.
It was the kind of darkness that swallowed torches and turned shadows into shapes. The smoke from the battlefield still clung to the ground, and the low winds that usually blew in from the Lag'ranna foothills had died completely. The eastern trenches of the Threian line, though reinforced in recent days, were the weakest by virtue of terrain…flat plains, no natural barriers, and easy to charge to.
Captain Braedon paced along the wall's crest, lantern in hand, scanning the dark.
No horns had sounded.
No drums had beat.
But every man could feel it…something was coming.
At the command post near the eastern side, Lieutenant Marcus wiped grime from his exhausted face for the sixth time in an hour. "Nothing. Just fog."
Braedon didn't answer. He stared into the dark, nostrils flaring. With fog present, it was hard to spot anything further than fie meters.
