Night had fallen deep. A cold wind threaded through the jagged rock walls, letting out a low moan like a whimper.
Outside the valley, behind a wind-sheltered boulder.
Flickering firelight illuminated several faces etched with exhaustion and anxiety.
The remaining members of the two squads sat scattered across rocks and packs, most of their gazes unconsciously drifting toward the valley entrance.
Zoya leaned against the edge of a rock, Bruce sprawled at her feet. His ears would prick up from time to time, swiveling toward the darkness.
Besides them, three tense-looking militiamen from Dalt Town had gathered by the campfire, ranging in age from their early twenties to their forties.
The leader was a square-faced middle-aged man with an old knife scar on his chin and a standard-issue shortsword at his waist.
His name was Morris, vice-captain of the Dalt militia.
"After word reached the town, the mayor gathered all the militiamen overnight," Morris said, his voice low and weary. "We're working in two shifts now, twelve men to a group, taking turns standing watch on the walls. Temporary watchtowers have been added at both the east and north gates."
He rubbed his hands together and edged closer to the fire.
"The mayor also sent swift riders to Ashfield County to contact the Count. But even if they send people immediately, it'll still take four or five days at the soonest."
"Four or five days..." Edlin frowned.
"Yeah." Morris gave a bitter smile. "The mayor sent me and two others here. First, to confirm how all of you were doing. Second, to see with our own eyes what had become of the valley."
He paused, looking over the weary yet composed faces around him.
"To be honest, we prepared for the worst before setting out. Dozens of ogres... Even if