~To the wicked, everything serves as pretext~
- Voltaire
Andronika had always hated awaiting the unknown, to her it was more a cruel fate than lone warfare with a hundred men. Trudging through the forest with her soldiers, her ears twitched at even the slightest sound, and her fingers flexed constantly, ready to draw her sword at any moment.
None of the men around her fared any better, her warriors however had sufficient control and calm but the volunteers were by far worse off. They had chosen to remain by her side and continue the mission, a brave move on their part, but Andronika couldn't help the feeling of dread that settled within her, the men by her side were her responsibility, she could not afford to let anyone come to harm.
