Da was able to get close behind one of the tents and listen. He heard the men tell their stories and make them larger and wilder with each telling. Soon the forest had legs of its own and trees had menacing antlers that swept men and horses off the trails to their doom, disappearing into the nearest ravine.
The clink of bottles as the passed around the fire meant that they were drinking their courage from them.
Da moved toward the wagons so he could find out what they had brought out with them.
The last tent he found, closest to the horses, was the captain’s tent.
Here, too, the fire was high. And the captain was staring into it, while drinking his own courage from a single bottle.
This was no army, this was a bunch of cowards in soldier’s uniforms. One sober man could scare them all
