Galina watched her people run the final checks, her foot tapping in unconscious irritation at what felt like delay, even though she knew they were right on schedule. The wagons were ready to go as the sky lightened, before the sun had actually peeked over the horizon. They would head back to Restov, to try and add a few provisions to the camp’s winter stores.
“Well, Mistress of the Whip, are we off, then?” Galina scowled at the sound of Eoghan‘s voice. She had made no secret of her general dislike of the man. She had asked why she was being saddled with his company, but Aleksandr had said only that the so-called Master of Whispers – which is what seeded Eoghan’s laughing title for her – had errands to run in the city.
“We’re off,” she curtly replied. He only winked at her and hopped up into the first wagon, immediately chatting up the driver about the fine morning.
Galina mounted her horse and shouted the signal to move out, hearing it echo down the line as her sergeants repeated it. And the train began to roll.