Chapter 42: Chance Encounter
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On the day they crossed the Styx, the supply train camped at the Bridgehead Fortress.
Late at night, a panicked night-watch scout burst into Lieutenant Montaigne's tent, "Sir! Wake up quickly!"
The lieutenant's consciousness was hazy, "Ugh... What's going on?"
"There's been a big incident!"
Sleep instantly gone, Winters leaped from his campaign bed, "What happened?"
"Salt is falling from the sky!"
Without even bothering to put on his clothes, Winters dashed out of the tent.
As he scanned the surroundings, he didn't see salt being sprinkled, but he was faced with an even more astonishing sight—thousands upon thousands of willow catkins spiraling down from the skies.
This land, which rarely saw snow, was experiencing snowfall.
...
Two days later.
West of the Kurvalya River, in unnamed territories.
Andre and Winters rode side by side, engaging in idle chatter. The sound of horse hooves "squelching" in mud and water could be heard.