Leaving the Camp

For the last few days of the dreadful march across the bones of the dead deity, Godgrave had been different from before. That was because the stormy clouds that always obscured the sky, suffused with blinding radiance, had finally given birth to an actual storm. 

Strong winds assaulted the bone plain, and a torrential downpour fell like a flood. The scarlet jungle had turned maroon in the desaturated twilight, pressed down by the heavy rain.

The dark chasm of the great fissure was drinking the torrents of water like a hungry maw. Standing at its edge, fourteen Saints were looking down with somber expressions. 

The expedition force had just claimed the area around the vast crack that split the plain. The soldiers were busy building a fortified encampment — this time, they would be remaining in one place for some time, besieged from all sides by the hungry jungle, so it had to resemble a fortress.