"Blackthorn," Oliver said, just before they left the trees. She was one of their number who had a bow, though she claid not to be able to use it very well, she'd at least been trained.
She flinched, as her na was suddenly called breaking the silence. The eyes that she turned to him were rounder than he'd ever seen them. He felt like he'd snuck up on a cat. "Yes, Captain?"
Ever the military girl, she'd imdiately settled into calling Oliver by his military title. In truth, she seed more comfortable doing that than using his real na.
"Steady," he said, nodding at her feet. She hadn't realized what she'd been doing, but the position that she'd paused in had been a dangerous one. The ankle of her right foot was bent at a questionable angle. If not for her near-supernatural flexibility, she would certainly have sprained it in that position.
"Ah…" She said, surprised at the state of her own feet. It was like they were disobeying her. She frowned. She'd never had such a problem before, and it was embarrassing to have it pointed out. She quickly corrected how she was standing, and then took care in the next few steps forward that she was taking.
Only, she found that her ankles seed inclined to move the sa way. It was as though her feet had lost all their strength and willingness to support her. The ankle joint continued to bend sideways, tilting with her body, giving her a drunken swagger that she could hardly understand. She'd worn her thickest boots, so it couldn't have been the cold.
"The deep snow and hills wear on you," Nila told her. "I expect the tops of your feet are tired, huh? It's tough, but you're going to have to lift your knees up higher instead. It'll take the pressure off your feet."
She was brusque, but kind, as was Nila's way. For so reason, that made Blackthorn even more flustered, as she scrambled to do as Nila had said. She didn't like the fact that so many people were looking her way – especially not when it was with no small asure of pity.
Trying as Nila had pointed out, she found that it did indeed correct the problem with her ankles, putting the onus of movent onto the upper leg instead of her feet. By all accounts, it should have been a solution, and the problem should have been resolved there, but Oliver knew that it was nothing more than a bandage. Blackthorn's speed ca almost entirely from the quickness of her feet.
If the trudging snow had left her this tired, then that spelt issues down the line. Not just for her, but for all the soldiery.
These were the sorts of problems that Oliver had expected to uncover, as he went on his first sudo-attack of the Encampnt. There were many issues in strategy that couldn't be conceived until they were experienced first-hand. One might think that the best strategist was he who could predict all these things in advance, but Volguard disagreed.
He thought that a strategist's mind should be occupied by the more complicated problems. Brain power should not be wasted trying to guess what could easily be acquired if only experienced.
Nonetheless, even with the evident fatigue setting in with the n – it wasn't just Blackthorn, now that Oliver stopped to look – they pressed closer to the hill. By now, they'd brought their bows to their hands, and prepared an arrow on the string, just in case the opportunity should present itself. Oliver too had a bow of his own.
He hadn't been able to take the black bow that he used with Professor Yoreholder, given its expense, but he had sothing that almost neared it, as far as the soldier's bows went. This one had a particularly brutal draw strength needed to operate it, reserved for only the strongest of the soldiery. Verdant was clutching an identical one, though he claid to be a terrible shot with a bow.
On the edge of the tree line, they paused. They passed around a flask from which water was drunk, refreshing themselves to the best degree that they could, but by now the overwhelming tenseness had set in like cent. Hands shook from both the cold, and from the apprehension. Oliver and Nila both understood that it was best not to leave them waiting too long.
He marvelled at the fiery-haired girl who seed hardly affected by what was afflicting the rest. He'd always wanted to know just how she asured up compared to the nobility, and as he'd expected, it was only really rank where they differed.
"Hm?" Nila turned, feeling Oliver's gaze on her.
"Nothing," he replied. "Let's move forward."
With everyone watered, and a slight bit of rest dished out, they were in the best condition that they could hope to be in. Any more rest, and they'd likely just get cold. They went forward together at Oliver's command, overrun by tension. By now, they could see the encampnt and the hill in which it sat. Already, with the setting sun, the place was blossoming with the light of hundreds of torches.
"Gods…" Firyr said. "You're set to attack that? Damn – which bastard did you offend?"
Clearly, the question was directed towards Oliver, in a less than polite manner. A few more than five unhappy looks were sent his way, but the slave quickly brushed them off, his eyes trembling with excitent.
"If I'd known it was going to be such a big egg, I would have agreed sooner," Firyr said. "What a wonderous position. So this is what a Stormfront military encampnt looks like, is it?"
"This is better than most," Verdant told him drily. "Watch your tone when you speak to your superiors, Sergeant. Even in the enemy's den, decorum is important. If not, more so than ever."
"Hm? Yeah, alright," Firyr said dismissively, hardly paying a mind to what Verdant was saying.
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