By evening, the mountain wind was driving black sleet through the eastern catwalk's embrasures, forcing Eirwen to pull her hood clear of her bowstring.
Below her vantage point, twenty civilian tenders scrambled along the sheltered masonry gallery, hauling crates of clean bandages, splints, and reserve arrows to the forward barricades.
The catwalk was a perilous shelf of stone carved directly into the eastern cliff face, connecting the central viaduct with the lower supply depots and field hospitals.
High above on the jagged limestone spire known as the Crow's Beak, an elite Choral storm archer stood motionless amidst the swirling violet vortex.
The archer wore segmented plates of iridescent blue chitin, holding a colossal composite greatbow carved from the horn of an abyssal frost drake.
His position was masterfully chosen, giving him an unobstructed firing arc across the entire catwalk while remaining sheltered from conventional ground counterattacks.
