"They aren't coming back for it, Silas," a voice rasped through the fog.
Bram spit a dark glob of phlegm into the snow. "How many left, Captain?" Ashes of War [v1.0]
Silas pulled a heavy leather skin from his belt and uncorked it. Instead of water, it contained a thick, shimmering oil—rendered from the fat of the fallen beasts that now stalked the ruins. He poured a single drop onto the shield's surface. "They aren't coming back for it, Silas," a
Bram grunted, leaning heavily on a walking axe that had long since lost its edge. "Scraps won't buy us bread in the Lowlands. Assuming the Lowlands haven't burned just as bright as the Ridge." "They aren't coming back for it