Cold winter winds shook the towering, evergreen trees in the forest, sending large clumps of snow crashing to the ground below and adding an unsteady rhythm of -FWUMP- sounds to the more common noises of an army camped in the depths of winter.

The forces under Dame Sybyll's command had assembled in the wilderness outside Hanrahan town more than a day ago, and they immediately began making preparations for their assault on the town.

The Golden Eyed soldiers who had once been part of the Black Wolf Brigade formed the core of the Second Army, and as soon as the servants in camp began pitching tents, the wolf-like soldiers had spread through the forest, stripping it of any game larger than a feral hog in order to stretch the supplies of the army of over three hundred people.

At the same time, the smallest soldiers of the army, men from across the mountains who stood even shorter than the Horned Clan with large, round ears and soft gray fur, raced out into the lands surrounding Hanrahan Town, creating a web of eyes and ears that provided a steady flow of information back to the leaders of the army.

Heila was no different than many in the army, even though she wasn't a soldier in the strictest sense of the word. The tent she occupied was large enough for five men who were twice her size, and yet she was the only person making use of it.

"Through Willow's sap and nature's gift,

Let healing power tend wounds swift.

In balm and salve, let wellness dwell,

To mend what battle's fury fells."

Silvery green energy flowed from Heila's outstretched palms, forming dozens of thin tendrils of energy that danced and swayed like the branches of a willow tree in the wind as they stirred the salve in her cauldron, infusing it with the power of the world to mend wounds that were certain to be far too common in the days to come.

As remedies went, the healing salve Heila selected was one of the weakest she knew how to create, but it had the advantage of requiring very few rare ingredients and she was able to concoct it in large batches that filled her small bronze cauldron to the brim.

The scent of chamomile and willow-bark filled the tent as she began carefully ladling the thin, yellowish salve into a series of earthenware jars, topping each one with a cork stopper and dipping the top of the jar in a simmering pot of beeswax before placing it neatly into a box along with several identical jars of the power-infused ointment.

"I hope it's enough to help," she said as she mopped the sweat from her brow after bottling the last of the salve. More than anything, the salve would ward off infection and slightly speed the body's own healing, allowing a wound that would have healed in weeks to heal in days.

For anyone expecting a miracle cure from the Willow Whip, it would fall far short, but on the scale of an entire army, it would allow dozens of wounded soldiers to return to battle much faster than they would have normally, which would be vital if Ashlynn was going to maintain the ambitious tempo of assaults she'd planned for her Winter War.

"I'll be out in a few minutes," Heila called to the figure who had been waiting outside the tent since halfway through her concoction. It was impossible for someone as large as her visitor to move silently through the snow-covered forest, and his passage had knocked even more snow from the trees, but there was no one in the camp who would dare to disturb a witch in the middle of practicing her craft, and her guest was no exception.

"The snow is even deeper than this morning, Lady Heila," a deep, rumbling voice said from outside the tent. "Skirts might be… unwise," he said, carefully not pointing out how much the diminutive witch had struggled to move through the deeper drifts of snow in the final hours of the army's march.

"I learned my lesson, Ipiktok," Heila said as a faint blush spread across her cheeks. She was already unlacing the bodice of her dress, stripping away the comfortable outfit that smelled of fresh herbs and sweat after her long session of concocting in favor of something more practical for the night to come.

If it had been up to her, she would have preferred that this night never come. Dame Sybyll was powerful enough to rule as an Eldritch Lady in her own right if she wished to, or even a High Lady given enough time to build the forces under her banner. As powerful champions went, there were few under Lady Nyrielle's command who could match up to her.

If the humans were smart, they would choose their champion and send him out to face the Crimson Knight in a single duel for the fate of their city. Whether it was the Templar Tommin or the Inquisitor Diarmuid who were said to be heading to Hanrahan Town, either man would have been a worthy foe for Dame Sybyll, though Heila doubted that anything other than Sir Tommin's Holy Light Blade could truly threaten her.

Instead, they would clash in the human way, throwing armies against each other until there had been so much bloodshed and death that one side had to yield to the other or face utter extermination. Worse, because they were assaulting the humans in their own homes, common people might be foolish enough to wade into battle with improvised weapons as if they had a chance of turning the tide.

There was nothing to look forward to in a battle that had so much potential to turn into a bloodbath, and as Heila began to make her own preparations for the night to come, she silently prayed that their preparations would at least be effective at keeping the innocents from joining the fray, because if they failed, then thousands of humans would die and Ashlynn's hopes of forming a lasting peace afterward would become much, much harder to fulfill.