sky met the earth: the enemy encampment.
Ido wasnât the sort to get discouraged, but on this particular evening he felt old and tired.
He pulled on his long beard and took a puff of his pipe.
You old fool, this is no time to give in. The truth is you miss Nihal. â¦
The truth, indeed. Nearly two months had passed since Nihalâs departure.
Ido hardly ever waxed emotional, but at the sight of his student lifting into the air on Oarf to embark on her mission, heâd felt his heart tighten. Once again, he was on his own.
Heâd told himself that the sadness would pass, that heâd be drawn back into the war and all its mechanisms, that heâd be his strong and cocksure self once again. But that wasnât the way it turned out. The days crawled by, one after the next. Heâd transferred to an encampment in the Land of Water, closer to the front, and offered his services there. By launching himself heart and soul into battle, heâd hoped to chase away this spell of melancholy. As winter advanced, along with the enemy troops, Ido refused to waste a single minute. He planned out attacks, commanded soldiers in the field, and battled with every ounce of his strength, consumed by the need to fight.
He spent his evenings, however, in solitude, alone in his tent, puffing agitatedly on his pipe. Heâd lost all desire to speak with his comrades, and so he spent his days in silence. In all those years, he realized, he hadnât formed a single lasting friendship among the troops.
It felt as if heâd traveled back in time, to when heâd first joined the Army of the Free Lands, when his days were spent within the strict confines of a rigorous routine of training, battle, and rest, each day identical to the last. Every now and then he set off on Vesa, his scarlet dragon, sometimes wandering off for an entire day. Every time he rose up in flight, however, he received another sad confirmation that they hadnât gained a single inch of ground. On the contrary, they were racking up one defeat after another.
Snap out of it!
He tore his gaze from the plain and, after one final puff, knocked the spent tobacco from his pipe. Tomorrow, thereâd be a new attack to lead, one more occasion to numb his pathetic melancholy in battle. He went back into his tent.
The next morning, the air was bitter cold. His breath came out in dense, little clouds.
Ido sat on back of Vesa, prepared to do battle for the umpteenth time. Mavern was beside him, astride his own dragon.
âYou look a bit tired, Ido,â said the general.
âJust getting old,â Ido chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
âDwarves donât age as fast as we humans.â
âNo, but even we dwarves get old, General.â
Mavern smiled. Ido let out a sigh and scanned his surroundings. He could make out the enemy troops clearly in the distance, immersed in a glacial silence, the peculiar silence of an army of ghosts. He knew the scene well by now, though he still hadnât grown accustomed to it. Rather than focus his attention on the spectral gray line of troops, he looked to the following rows of Famminâmonstrous beings with thick fangs and tough, dark red fur. Not exactly a pleasant sight, but at least they didnât fill his bones with a deathly chill.
The command to charge caught him by surprise, but he took to the air on Vesa in an instant, letting loose a loud war cry.
He launched into battle, storming the enemy troops from above on his dragon. Now and then, the fire-breathing birds swooped in to pester him, but he disposed of them with ease. A battle like any other, really.
That is, until he arrived. Ido felt the air ripple and realized a Dragon Knight had drawn near. Only a dragonâs wings could produce such a grim and heavy sound. Something roused inside of Ido.
Finally, a worthy opponent .
He increased his altitude, hoping to get a better look at his enemy. The color red invaded his
Ido wasnât the sort to get discouraged, but on this particular evening he felt old and tired.
He pulled on his long beard and took a puff of his pipe.
You old fool, this is no time to give in. The truth is you miss Nihal. â¦
The truth, indeed. Nearly two months had passed since Nihalâs departure.
Ido hardly ever waxed emotional, but at the sight of his student lifting into the air on Oarf to embark on her mission, heâd felt his heart tighten. Once again, he was on his own.
Heâd told himself that the sadness would pass, that heâd be drawn back into the war and all its mechanisms, that heâd be his strong and cocksure self once again. But that wasnât the way it turned out. The days crawled by, one after the next. Heâd transferred to an encampment in the Land of Water, closer to the front, and offered his services there. By launching himself heart and soul into battle, heâd hoped to chase away this spell of melancholy. As winter advanced, along with the enemy troops, Ido refused to waste a single minute. He planned out attacks, commanded soldiers in the field, and battled with every ounce of his strength, consumed by the need to fight.
He spent his evenings, however, in solitude, alone in his tent, puffing agitatedly on his pipe. Heâd lost all desire to speak with his comrades, and so he spent his days in silence. In all those years, he realized, he hadnât formed a single lasting friendship among the troops.
It felt as if heâd traveled back in time, to when heâd first joined the Army of the Free Lands, when his days were spent within the strict confines of a rigorous routine of training, battle, and rest, each day identical to the last. Every now and then he set off on Vesa, his scarlet dragon, sometimes wandering off for an entire day. Every time he rose up in flight, however, he received another sad confirmation that they hadnât gained a single inch of ground. On the contrary, they were racking up one defeat after another.
Snap out of it!
He tore his gaze from the plain and, after one final puff, knocked the spent tobacco from his pipe. Tomorrow, thereâd be a new attack to lead, one more occasion to numb his pathetic melancholy in battle. He went back into his tent.
The next morning, the air was bitter cold. His breath came out in dense, little clouds.
Ido sat on back of Vesa, prepared to do battle for the umpteenth time. Mavern was beside him, astride his own dragon.
âYou look a bit tired, Ido,â said the general.
âJust getting old,â Ido chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
âDwarves donât age as fast as we humans.â
âNo, but even we dwarves get old, General.â
Mavern smiled. Ido let out a sigh and scanned his surroundings. He could make out the enemy troops clearly in the distance, immersed in a glacial silence, the peculiar silence of an army of ghosts. He knew the scene well by now, though he still hadnât grown accustomed to it. Rather than focus his attention on the spectral gray line of troops, he looked to the following rows of Famminâmonstrous beings with thick fangs and tough, dark red fur. Not exactly a pleasant sight, but at least they didnât fill his bones with a deathly chill.
The command to charge caught him by surprise, but he took to the air on Vesa in an instant, letting loose a loud war cry.
He launched into battle, storming the enemy troops from above on his dragon. Now and then, the fire-breathing birds swooped in to pester him, but he disposed of them with ease. A battle like any other, really.
That is, until he arrived. Ido felt the air ripple and realized a Dragon Knight had drawn near. Only a dragonâs wings could produce such a grim and heavy sound. Something roused inside of Ido.
Finally, a worthy opponent .
He increased his altitude, hoping to get a better look at his enemy. The color red invaded his
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