"Lady Heila," Liam Dunn said hesitantly as he approached the diminutive witch, stepping carefully around a group of Glass Eyed archers who were distributing bundles of arrows from wooden crates they'd towed through the wilderness on improvised sleds. Emmie and her father Kurtz trailed close behind him, the young squire's eyes darting between the bustling preparations and the human she was supposed to be attending to.
Around them, the army had transformed into a complex dance of loosely organized chaos. A small group of bearish soldiers from the Vale of Mists unfurled the banners that had been carefully prepared for this battle before they ever left the Vale. While they worked, they seemed to treat each banner with the same kind of tenderness and reverence they would display toward the powerful person that each banner represented, never letting even a corner of the fabric touch the muddy, churned snow beneath their feet.
