บท 58: Winter Has Come.

The march began in the early morning, the army of Byzeth moving like a beast over the land, hundreds of feet trampling the dirt roads.

The banners flew high above the mass of soldiers, each one emblazoned with the royal crest of Byzeth, fluttering in the wind.

The clang of armor, the snorting of horses, and the rhythmic march of boots filled the air, creating an almost hypnotic sound as they made their way north.

On the first day, the weather was mild. The early autumn sun did only but warmed their backs, and the land stretched out in shades of brown and gold, the last remnants of summer hanging in the trees.

The soldiers marched steadily, conserving their energy. Aric, mounted on his black stallion, remained near the front, his armor gleaming under the sun.

He was silent, observing everything, from the way the soldiers marched to how the supplies were distributed during the occasional stops.