"Get up, we are leaving." Mirra scrambled to her feet and hurried outside as the tent collapsed behind her, Mord rolling it up swiftly. Pale morning light bathed the mountains and dew frosted the grass beneath a thick blanket of mist. Bane strode to the demon steed with hardly a trace of a limp, even though his foot was undoubtedly crushed. Mirra rubbed her eyes and yawned, glancing around. The soldiers still roused from their bedrolls, stretching and yawning, shaking out their blankets and gathering up their packs. The remains of the previous day's feast lay scattered around the dead fires' black scars. The bones and hides of the cattle they had slaughtered were piled in the centre of the camp. Evidently none had any appetite for more food, since no cook fires had been lighted for breakfast. Mirra had overslept, and her stomach's rumbling told her of its emptiness. Mord loaded the other two trolls with Bane's furniture, and the Demon Lord headed back towards the tunnel. Benton had already saddled the warhorse, and helped her mount.
