Sehira stood solemnly at the edge of a low hill, watching the swarm of masked men move with precision below her, and replaying the day’s events in her head with a grim face.
As Lowland gate´s Crimson Army worked tirelessly removing the fallen corpses that the Yahurians and the Mavaerians were dutifully piling all around the place, the masked woman observed them all with silent caution, knowing that the war was far from over yet.
Her sight occasionally wandering to the western forests and darkening… Her hand tightening into a fist around the spear that she was holding in it.
The sound of the horse’s hoofs and the distinct streak of the olive garments rapidly approaching her position made her smirk with pride as her eyes landed on the monarch riding directly towards her.
After all, none
