Chapter 7

Froster stood in front of the boat as he stared into the river’s unending horizon. The smell of water and the light tinge of smoke had done enough to dull his thoughts as he bottled in the uneasiness. A Dragonwolf never showed fear. But he knew the fight with the Birchmen was no easy memory to swallow. The memories of the Western Marshlands campaign were fresh in his mind, long days slogging down enemy territory not knowing when the strange barbarians would attack. What he feared most was their weapons, the Birchmen only used primitive spears tipped with crude metal and self loading crossbows that fired simple arrows. But their capability to meld with the wood and dirt of their surroundings was what made the barbarians such a challenging enemy. And his long career knew he had many to compare to.

“It’s my second time in the marshes.&rdqu