The early afternoon sun hung high above the trees as the shadows shrunk to small dark patches beneath the wagons and tents.
Garen walked out of the Morvath camp with his shoulders straight and his step light almost like he was bouncing with the small bag of mana stones sat tucked inside his jacket, pressing against his chest like a second heart.
He made his way back toward the scattered mini-camps where the mercenaries and criminals had set up their temporary shelters.
The ground was uneven and dust rose with every step he took. He could hear voices in the distance ranging from arguments to laughter to clink of bottles.
Yes, people were drinking in the afternoon... more of an habit for most of them especially with the criminal's flipped day.
Then he heard engines.
Garen looked up and immediately spottted several large trucks were making their way up the path toward the Morvath camp.
They moved slowly, kicking up clouds of brown dust that drifted into the trees.
