Another day, another raid-- Hazel is accustomed to it by now. Winter hanging around her shoulders, biting and chilly. It makes her feel alive, more alive than most things these days. Drawing up on Bas's flank, shining emerald gaze scanning the surface before her. Carefully, sharply, scanning the stark cover the Polar Sound had to offer.
Tense. All of her is tense, coiled, a spring ready to let loose. A friendly raid, sure, but they'd take it no less seriously. No excess bloodshed today, or so they're supposed to. She'd keep reminding herself of it... control. Hazel is in control of herself. She swears by it. The General lifts her head to call alongside Basilisk. Tense. Ready.
Bard
