79
The morning of the battle dawned dull and overcast. West Wandering was full of Jarand’s men. Officers had commandeered the two inns and squads of soldiers patrolled the streets, laughing and talking loudly, full of uneasy bravura in anticipation of the upcoming battle. Window boxes on the inns and cottages overflowed with a riot of colour while neat front lawns had burgeoned into tangled wildernesses of long grasses and sprawling bushes under the auspices of the forest’s power.
A vanguard had worked hard to clear straying vines, unexpected bushes and one large willow tree from the road that entered the village from the southwest. The fruits of their labour were piled on either side of the road on the outskirts of the village. Even the relatively small numbers of the vanguard had churn
