The patrol pause to catch their breath. You keep an eye out, standing upwind of the rest, hoping that 
if an attack comes you will be the first to know. You sniff the air, trying to pick up any warnings. 
Oddly there's the smell of heather. You frown slightly and close your eyes, the better to catch the 
scent. From behind come voices, soft and unfamiliar but somehow unthreatening. 

You glance back to see twenty or so people standing in the darkness; in their armour, it's hard to 
tell who's who. You frown and motion them to silence. There's no point alerting the enemy by accident, 
even with the odds currently on your side. A figure slips out of the bushes to the left, humming an 
old battlesong under her breath; you relax, hand moving away from swordhilt.

The woman salutes sketchily, a long-standing joke between the pair of you. "There's more of 'em than 
usns were told," she reports quietly, "but I reckon commanders shouldn't be too tricksy to get to. 
Me kammoben is in place to stop their mage, an' I left my lads and lasses 'round edges to keep eye 
on stuff. Owt happens, we'll know it 'fore they do. Same tactics as last time?"

You nod; she salutes again and starts giving orders to the men and women with you. It doesn't take 
long for everyone to be ready; the Frostwolves have had more than long enough to learn to work together. 
The sergeant ghosts back to your side and nods. You wait for one of the little scudding clouds to drift 
over the moon and signal the attack. As you and your squad move out the disturbed heather send up billows 
of scent, almost overpowering to your battle-sharpened senses. One of your scouts rises up in front of 
you, blocking your view; you pull back slightly, startled, and the light comes back as the world you left 
snaps back into place.