They knew that they would be easy to spot. The trees swayed as they moved through them, and their chatter carried over with the wind and into the villages and towns around them. Hard to miss. There was no need for caution: they were an army large enough to crush even the standing army of the kingdom by the number, although, Gloss believed, each of his warriors could defeat a handful of theirs with ease.

They watched the sky devour the sun, and leave behind only the dull remnants of its warmth, found in the gray clouds above them. They felt the wind grow cooler and harder, blowing at their backs, pushing them forward. They grew somewhat quieter as they approached their destination, but for anyone that lived past the hill, the voices were replaced by the grinding of metal plates and feet against the ground, a cacophony of of incidental sounds.

Eventually, the army arrived, just at the cusp of the forest. The ground sloped downward and merged with the flat land where the city stretched out below. Gloss knew the child dwelled here. They couldn’t see a soul below.

In a flash, the army descended on the city.