I am wrathful, my love - and you know how difficult it is to raise my ire. The army has encamped for the night on the Plain of Avrilan. I have sent mounted chevairds out as pickets, and the enchanters have raised walls of sod around us. I now sit in my tent, alone save for Kelderam, before my captains assemble to present their evening reports. They sing rounds, they play their dicing games, and they do the things that men and women do.
Spirits are high.
For the past two nights the pickets have brought back unusual reports. While they have not seen anything untoward, they feel as if they have been watched as they perform their patrols. The night, they say, moves when they do not look at it. I think the enemy knows we are coming. I am confident we can prevail, should our captains be wise, and our soldiers be constant.