Casualties of a Cold War
Gilneas still looked beautiful despite its destruction. Spires and stained glass windows built a beautiful aesthetic that, coupled with overcast skies and a light rain, almost reminded her of home.
She’d followed the trail for hours. Puddle to puddle, muddy patch to displaced leaves, every moment inching along, all the way from Silverpine. Still, standing upright for the first time since her hunt began she felt no weariness. The sight of that fire, of the encampment and the gruff voices of her prey, rekindled the fire that kept her going. The Syndicate had cause to fear.