![]() ![]() Perhaps faith had kept her warm before, she reflected sadly, faith in the comfortable rhythms of her life, and faith in Nysander, the wizard who’d been a part of her soul for two centuries. Never in all her three hundred and three years had she felt the cold so keenly. Magyana pulled her sodden cloak more closely around her. The unlucky soldiers on sentry duty did the same, their green tabards the only spots of color against this grim palette. In the makeshift corrals, the horses huddled together, their backs to the wind. In the distance, the tents of her queen’s sprawling encampment billowed and creaked along the riverbank, black specters on a dun plain. The sleet-laden wind buffeted Magyana, whipping wet strands free from the wizard’s thick white braid as she trudged across the churned ground of the battlefield. ![]()
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