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Korsas and the 338th outrange the marching footsloggers, sloshing as they go, footfalls hitting the dry ground in tune with the marching song of the sun's rising. Traditional, although, perhaps, around these parts, a little uncalled for. Feels like inviting the wrong kind of attention. But spirits are high and the sub-officers lets it pass for now.
One of the Uthani, leaning down across his horse, runs his hand across the greenery clinging to life in Windchime pass. Deep roots are sucking moisture form the stone and the earth. But as long as there is a trickle, there is hope.
Though it's odd. . . This plant is stained with a slight patina of some red spray. One wonders where the Watchkeepers are? Does the 2nd Cohort not have optios, to set perimeters, or proper protocols? No, Fireskellian is an unbending kind of steelsoul. She sets a schedule and keeps it. . .
