The smoky warmth of the field kitchen provided a welcome sanctuary from the biting mountain wind that whipped across the forward camp.
Hajin pushed aside the heavy canvas tent flap, shaking a thick dusting of evening frost from the dark wool mantle of his traveling cloak.
Inside the spacious mess tent, two iron braziers glowed with radiant charcoal embers, throwing dancing amber shadows against the rough pine trestle tables and stacked supply barrels.
Loccy was seated near the hearth, dipping bread into her stew while Aria's tiny projection appeared on Hajin's left shoulder as he approached the waiting bench.
At the far end of the long bench, the camp cooks had deliberately arranged Hajin's bowl, spoon, and cup on the lower left corner of a scrubbed tray.
The arrangement accommodated his strained right shoulder, still aching from the Lever's backlash as he held open the authority seam beside the cistern hatch.
