Biron and his group of cadets continued their long march until they finally reached the streets of a city that bordered Molowisk. It was their last stop and one welcomed by all the soldiers.
The exhaustion each soldier carried was obvious, yet their discipline never wavered.
Each soldier moved in perfect rhythm, boots striking the cobblestones at just the same time due to having marched the same way from their almost week and a half long journey.
The sound of this march filled the narrow streets like the steady beat of a drum that drove them forward.
It wasn't long before they settled near the outskirts of the city, Biron's mind wandered back to the stares they had drawn along the way.
He recalled the glares and looks of the refugees and townsfolk that had watched them pass, and in many of those gazes he had found no comfort.
There was no doubt in his heart that the king's choices had not been made with the people's well-being in mind.
