The bridge was slowly getting built, Oliver assured himself. It was frustrating going about battle in such an indirect way, building up the pieces that he had bit by bit, but it needed to be done. He was proceeding as cautiously as he could manage, as advised by Skullic and Hod.
Just before he turned around, he saw Cormrant out of the corner of his eye, making another lap at the bottom of the enemy fort on their horses. The same parade that they'd had going for a few days now.
The Skullic soldiers and the Patrick soldiers seemed to be about ready now. It was strange to think of them as Skullic's soldiers, when Verdant and Blackthorn stood amongst them, but Oliver saw no other way of making the distinction.
The slaves were as riled up as before, if not more so. Each victory came to them like nutrition, slowly building up a withered spirit. In a matter of hours, they looked like healthier men.
