Nearly A Pincushion

Assuming the tent they had spawned was their quarters until the battle began, the party of twelve made their way back. On the way there, they crossed many other platoons in a myriad of different moods.

But all across the camp, one sentiment seemed to echo through everyone. One of finality.

The entire war camp was settled upon a small hill, yet not a single tent went up the hill, all of them on the flat land behind. And Astaroth couldn't spot a single lookout up on the hill, either.

But when he extended his senses, he couldn't feel any demons.

"How far are we from the demon troops?" he asked, to a passing soldier.

The human soldier looked at him, a bit confused at the question.

"Uh… A mile out, over that hill. I'm sorry I'm busy right now. So I can't talk."