Warm gentle winds drifted up the hill and met the bearded faces of the soldiers, who sat limply upon the stony outcroppings of Dun da Lamh. The young men smoked and played cards to pass the time, sometimes beginning a conversation that inevitably led to nowhere important. Just another day, really, nothing prominent enough to care about.

“You boys hear about the recruitment drives up north?” Chatted one of the soldiers with a tartan-sewn glengarry, “We’re gonna be seein’ a whole bunch more lads down here, I'm bettin'.”

Some soldiers nodded in agreement, others stayed silent knowing that the raid they had participated in months before had brought them to this very moment in time. Over the hills could be seen imposing concrete artifices filled to the brim with Moranian soldiers. It was something symbolic if anything else; no MacDonald was going to cross that border anytime soon during the night, lest they be judged. It wasn’t a big worry, though; Corey always found a way out of situations like this, just as he had with the Loch Lismore fiasco several decades prior. Corey was a good smart man, and the soldiers knew this. If anything happened, Corey would be the first to act upon it.

“Aye,” Murmured one of the soldiers casually, “Those damn 'Pubbies won’t know what hit them if they try anything sneaky like we did.”

Some soldiers let out a sly grin, and others stayed silent.