The rapid clatter of hooves made the gray-green bushes and withered yellow grass leaves sway back and forth.
A cavalry column of a thousand men arrived at the outskirts of Shovel Town and stopped. Kennard galloped out and rushed to a high ground for reconnaissance.
Reining in his chestnut warhorse, Kennard lifted the visor of his bird-beak helmet, his dark gray pupils sweeping over the scene before him.
This was a sun-scorched and yellow foot-of-the-mountain area, the sky obscured by billowing clouds of smoke and dust.
To the west were rolling low mountains, their surfaces exposed in ocher-red rock, with sparse thorny bushes like dried spider webs clinging to the slopes.
Accurately speaking, the Yellow Fang Trail area all had this yellow terrain, even though it was at the foot of the mountain, it was no cooler than the city.
At the steep foot of the mountain, several valleys of varying depths had cracked open.
