The barren land north of Ashmark gave men too much time to think.
There was no shade anywhere on the march route, the afternoon heat reflected off cracked earth hard enough to feel like a second sun rising from below, and nothing broke the landscape between the march column and the horizon except scattered scrub and rocks that cast stunted shadows in every direction.
A hundred soldiers crossing ground like this made a distinct kind of noise. Boots struck dry earth in steady rhythm, men muttered to themselves or to the soldiers beside them, the sounds low and tired from a march that had started before dawn and kept going long after everyone had stopped believing the destination was close.
Harr stayed at the front of the company. He kept his pace even and tracked the distance to the mine the entire way. The scrub was sparse, but some patches were thick enough to matter if something decided to use concealment against them. He noted those automatically.
