The leaden clouds crawled across the sky, casting a sinister light on the gun and saber tips that barely reflected light.
Delawan wore a tight-fitting service soldier's rough cloth garment; the cold wind swept over his forehead, turning the freshly shed warm sweat into cold sweat, which slid down his cheek.
On the frozen hard dirt road, every step echoed with the sound of four pickaxes and clinking bottles and jars behind him.
Each time he lifted his head, he saw the backs of the soldiers marching in formation ahead; when he turned his head, he saw the elongated, sour expression on the mule beside him.
"Can you carry a bit more? I'm about to collapse." Delawan almost pleaded with the mule, but the mule turned its head away as if it hadn't heard.
With winter setting in and temperatures dropping, most of the previously muddy and difficult roads turned incredibly hard after the snow stopped.
