The stars shone brightly in the vast heavens.
A solitary moon gazed down upon the desolate, remote Wilderness.
At this time of year, the land was sealed in ice for thousands of miles, with hardly a soul in sight.
The Thorn Corps camp stretched for several miles, but it was mostly silent. Only a few sparse braziers flickered between the tents, casting a faint glow. Patrol soldiers moved silently amongst the shelters, ever-watchful for a surprise attack.
However, in the High Cliff Castle camp, a grand bonfire party was in full swing.
Frozen mutton and beef were thawed and hung on roasting racks, drops of fat sizzling and dripping as they were seared by the orange-red flames.
One by one, barrels of chilled wine were uncorked and poured into the stomachs of the Panda Warriors, which seemed to hold more than the barrels themselves.
