The rain scattered down upon the green field, though it was now less green and more a vast expanse of churned earth that thousands of feet trampled daily, becoming a muddy, shimmering surface of puddle water. It had been a miracle of luck that they had enjoyed mostly dry days and nights during the siege; it would have been an unbearable bother to have the siege engines and mining operations bogged down by both rain and thick mud.
With the profound relief and lightness that comes from the cessation of long, brutal labor, Alpheo raised his head to the sky, letting the cold water wash down his face and helmet.
I want to go home.
"Alph, you'll get a cold… please cover yourself. You have survived a rebellion, an uprising, assasinations, and battles were we had the worst of the odds. Do you truly wish your cause of death to be an ugly case of rain-cold?" Asag muttered, wrapping his heavy cloak even more tightly above his head. Asag really, genuinely did not like rain.
