Two weeks have passed, and the monotonous schedule of the march has set back in. The excitement of the battle has died away, ground into dust by the constant repetition of camp life.
Once again, you are bound southwest, following the same route you have been for the last few months. The longer your journey takes, and the further south you go, the warmer the weather gets.
You no longer need to wear furs. The air is pleasantly cool, the perfect weather when forced to march hundreds of miles under the oppressive sun. You enjoy the comfortable temperature while you can. One of the things you remember most clearly about Krorid is its heat.
You've broken away from the Atiming and begun following an unpaved road further through the country. The dense woods are long behind you. Now, you are surrounded by endless dry prairie and rolling hills on all sides, broken up only by the occasional grove of trees near lakes or ponds.
There are few signs of civilization out here. Besides the occasional hamlet, most of which have already had their menfolk conscripted, you've run into no major settlements. And you won't for at least another two weeks. Not until you head further south, where the rains pick up and farming becomes more practical again.
Today, you're riding alongside the common soldiery, both to build rapport and also to shake things up, adding some variety to a boring march. When everything looks the same and sounds the same, you can only find variety in your company.
"Marshal, permission to speak?" a younger soldier beside you asks.
"Granted," you reply.
"You's probably heard of the Krorid Battle Maidens, right?" He pauses. "Think we's run into some down there?"
His comrades around him all collectively groan. One man speaks up, saying, "Don't mind the dumbass. It's all he's been talkin' about since we started south again."
You answer the first man, saying…