Change of path(2)

The remnants of the rebel army pressed onward until nightfall,as usual. There was no fanfare when they stopped—only the hollow shuffle of boots over dirt and the muted groans of aching bodies. Without tents, they spread out wherever they could find a patch of ground, hastily clearing spaces for small fires to fend off the cold. Sparks flickered against the darkening sky as groups of men huddled around the flames, sharing what little food they had and muttering in low voices.

Lucius and Marcus sat on a fallen log near the edge of one of the makeshift camps, their faces cast in the glow of the nearest fire. They hadn't spoken much during the march, both lost in their thoughts. Marcus idly poked at the dirt with the tip of his boot, while Lucius seemed to be staring into the flames, his expression unreadable.

A shadow fell over them, and one of their watchers stepped into the firelight. His face was grim, and his voice was blunt, short and gruff as that of an old man