The forests south of Falmouth were dark, like there's no source of illumination other than the moon which is still dim by the passing of the clouds.
Wind moved through the trees while boots crushed leaves and damp soil beneath dozens of advancing brigands. Armor shifted softly. Horses breathed through their noses in short bursts while men whispered to each other beneath the cover of darkness.
Garron Blackmaw moved near the center of the advancing column with his axe resting across one shoulder.
The mood remained confident.
Almost excited.
Ahead of them, the outer farms of Falmouth sat barely visible beneath the moonlight. Small homes and abandoned crop fields stretched toward the distant city walls.
And beyond those walls—
Their prize waited.
Daren moved several paces ahead of Garron alongside Marrick while scouting the southern route again.
The city looked quiet from here.
Too quiet.
Only a few lanterns remained visible atop the battlements.
