Since the deployment of the three groups to the Central for the first time in weeks, the soldiers weren't marching or sharpening blades.
Instead they were laughing, singing, and drinking until their words slurred into the howling snow outside.
The entire outpost buzzed with warmth that didn't come from fire alone.
Barrels of northern ale were rolled out like treasure, the smell of roasted meat and smoke hanging thick in the air. The soldiers of the North had earned it. For once, they had won something worth celebrating — a decisive defense against Central raiders that had nearly breached their borders.
Inside the main hall, torches burned golden against the stone walls. Tables stretched long and wide, cluttered with plates, mugs, and laughter.
Noah sat at one of them — the farthest end, near the wall, half-shadowed by the flickering light. His cup of ale sat untouched for a long while as he listened to the roar of celebration around him.
