Morning rose on Watcher's Retreat; the grassland surrounding it was wet with dew. Were it under any other circumstances such a sight would be a pleasure to behold.
However, all the spectators of such a beautiful morning wore nothing but grim expressions. They were all aware of what the first light of the morning meant, and it was a march of death.
Before the day was through many of the faces that made up the forces marching through the grass would mark today as the last sunrise they would see. Such was a fact of war and such was the fate of a soldier.
Even though he had never fought anyone before, a soldier's fate was the only one that awaited poor Zeb. He was a simple farmer by birth and instead of taking the opportunity to train in a guild or take on some other opportunity, he used the reprieve Marked Ones had received to spend more time with his family.
