"And that's precisely why we can't fail that every step must be carefully calculated."
As they chatted, Ernest entered the tent, his bow strapped securely to his back.
At his belt, a sheath housed his sword.
Although he had made significant progress in the art of sword fighting, he wasn't ready to give up his bow. With it, he could accomplish things that the sword couldn't, and the bow held inestimable sentimental value for him.
With a quick glance, he assessed Maxime and Laura.
"You look preoccupied. Is something going on?" he asked matter-of-factly.
Maxime looked up at him, a discreet smile on his lips.
"Nothing to worry about. We're just getting ready to head south."
Ernest frowned, a gleam of skepticism in his eyes.
"Have you thought about the distance? How long a walk is that? Not to mention the strength of the orcs and what our allies can really bring?"