"The troops seem eager to march," Oliver observed casually, just before Professor Yoreholder could turn on her heel and march away. She paused, to look over her shoulder at him, trying to see if there was some shred of an order in what he had said.
"…if they wish to march, what will you do about it?" Yoreholder asked.
"I will not get in their way," Oliver said. "How could I? When their intentions are so strong, how could a single man hope to stem that tide?"
It was the closest he'd come to suggesting a battle plan. Those men of rank, of leadership, shared glances between them, trying to come to some form of understanding as to what they might do. They'd been robbed of exact orders, but they all still felt the need, ever so strongly, to see something done.
"Will we march, then?" Yoreholder asked the rest of them, given that Oliver would give them no reply. "Tonight?"
