The campfire blazed fiercely, driving away the chill of the night, and casting the faces of the generals in a ruddy glow. On these steady faces, there was both the ferocity from after the clash, the uplift from a great victory, and the pleasure from celebrations; mixed with emotions of either obvious closeness or covert distancing.
It was now past the middle of February, and the great army had been campaigning for close to a year. Xiulote led the Northern Army to a series of unending victories. Generals from all over gathered under the banner of the Black Wolf, crowding around His Highness to form a powerful legion. They thrived on collective success and gradually drew closer to each other, forming the beginnings of different factional outlines.
At this moment, with a word from His Highness, the generals all focused their attention and examined the two surrendered Tarasco generals in the great tent.
