The morning mist clung to the trees like cobwebs, heavy and still. Erwin walked at the front, hand resting on the sword at his hip, a blade he had forged himself, a weapon shaped not for show, but to survive days like this.
Behind him trailed five recruits in a crooked line, boots crunching damp leaves. Three of them were barely out of boyhood, two were nearer his age, though none carried the weight of experience. They weren't soldiers, they were dreamers.
It was already the second day of the trial, and right now their group was hungry and cold. They had not encountered any recruits wanting to kill them, but they were also in a worse situation than the remaining recruits.
Unlike the others who had experienced people leading them, none of them had any. They had only been eating berries and tree bark, but that wasn't enough.
