Walking, building camp, resting, walking... day after day.
The exhaustion and monotony of the march can be glimpsed through Winters' logs:
On the first day, we marched along the southern bank of the Confluence River, crows were pecking at floating corpses, nothing happened.
On the second day, we continued eastward, the weather turned cold, nothing happened.
On the third day, we crossed the river at Alpad's ford, the water reached up to the horses' knees; we fortified on the north bank of the ford, nothing else.
On the fourth day, we continued the march, nothing happened.
On the fifth day, we marched, nothing happened.
On the sixth day, nothing happened.
On the seventh, eighth, and ninth days, no records were written.
On the tenth night, Bard, Andre, and Mason quietly slipped into Winters' tent.
In the dim light, they began to piece together a large, incomplete map from smaller sections.
To see a small-scale map of the legion, their ranks were not high enough.