The world grew greener with every step. The grim greys and blacks of the blighted lands softened into the muted golds and browns of late autumn. Trees, once skeletal and petrified, now stood with a few stubborn, copper leaves clinging to their branches. The air smelled of woodsmoke and turned earth, the honest scents of harvest and preparation for winter.
They encountered other people: a woodcutter with a load of timber, his face ruddy with cold and effort; a pair of traders with a donkey cart, who eyed their weapons with wary curiosity but offered a cautious greeting. News of their approach, it seemed, was traveling faster than they were. The silence of the wilds was being replaced by the low hum of human activity, a sound that was both familiar and strangely new to their ears.
Finally, they crested the last hill, and Aethelburg lay spread out in the valley below.
