`They're only birds,' he told himself. `It is not possible that they know what will happen here. There are carrion-fowl here at all times of the year . . .
The superstitious thought distrubed him, `. . . though I do not recall ever seeing them in such numbers . . .'
"I hate this interminable waiting," he said aloud to Gart, who likewise was momentarily freed of duty. "All this additional planning . . . and for what? The Enemy will come, we will receive warning from our scouts, we will ride forth to meet the threat, we will hold the Enemy as long as we may, and then we will fall back. What more needs to be considered?"
"Spoken like a good and simple warrior," Gart jibed with a laugh, stamping his booted feet to get the chill out of them. "Go sleep somewhere until it begins! I'll send for you when I have need of your sword."
"You may take my sword right now, if you wish," Damond rejoined. "Any further waiting, and I will have forgotten how to use it."
"Wonderful!" said Gart. "I find such relics very useful for prying at boulders."
"Relic!" cried Damond. "It is only months since it came hot from the forge! That great axe of yours is a relic! It bears the mark of a smithy who has been dead since my grandsire's grandsire was a babe!"