This is quite a hidden terrain; several hundred refugees are scattered in the woods.
The cold weather and dampness in the woods torment them to the point of agony, but not a single one utters a sound.
Silent and enduring, like a pile of corpses.
Only a few small fires were lit in certain spots, and these small fires were surrounded by children, the injured, and the elderly, making sure not a single bit of light or warmth was leaked out.
The refugees are gaunt, their facial bones protruding due to malnutrition.
Though their bodies are visibly dirty, with blood stains, dark patches, and sweat marks...at least because of the weather, they are not too smelly.
As the sound of twenty or so horse hoofs arose, a wave rippled through the camp immediately.
A few armored swordsmen among the crowd stood up to calm everyone, preventing further chaos.
And in Lann's senses, there are now five or six stone crossbows aimed at them.
