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The soldiers are forced to drink foul water and eat stale bread. Yesterday, a fight broke out in camp over a hare that one of the men managed to snare in the forest – a tiny, miniscule thing with its ribcage showing and ear stiffened in shock, as though wondering what the fuss was about.
The commanders try and douse their senses with rum and spirits, but that just makes the men more angsty the morning after and unable to shoot straight when the Sea People come charging in from the sea.
I think the Compagnie will be most pliable to our recent offers. They did not raise an eyebrow when they heard about where our goods came from, or from whom. Patience is key. A bulldog must learn to heel before it can be trained to hunt.
To the Abyss
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