The northern winds howled like a beast, tearing through the camp as Thadric and Elvara returned from their skirmish. Snow crunched underfoot, and the air was thick with frost. Thadric, ever unbothered, sat on a rock sharpening his axe, the grin on his face evidence of his delight in battle.
'That was too easy,'
he muttered, running the blade of his axe against the whetstone.
Elvara stood nearby, her silver hair catching the faint glow of her staff.
'Easy?'
she said, raising an eyebrow.
'You call fifty armed warriors rushing us "easy"? They had you outnumbered five to one.'
Thadric chuckled.
'That's not outnumbered. That's called evening the odds.'
She shook her head, a faint smile creeping across her face despite herself.
'You're impossible.'
As their conversation tapered off, a scout approached, his breath visible in the freezing air.
'Commanders,'
he said, bowing slightly.
