The following day, clouds lingered overhead. Early that morn they spat out rain, but as the men assembled they fled to the distance of the horizon like watchful gods. Grand amounts of supplies were escorted out with the help of the populace at large, just as much to get rid of them as help out their 'saviors' Brasidas guessed. Luckily for them, the majority of the food and equipment was already on the backs of the protostates. For the Atvarian army, that was unheard of. Most militaries, particularly large ones, had extensive baggage trains, giving the troops large amounts of food, water, and even entertainment in exchange for having a costly stream of cargo to protect. Larger Atvari armies were veritable moving cities. While the Imperial military had re-adopted the extensive baggage train in some small capacity over the last century, many still held the tradition that there should be five men for every donkey carrying supplies. It made for a lighter, faster, and more efficient force. The only real downside was the grumbling of the men. 

They left in full battle march as opposed to the travel lines they would normally traverse the land with, the troops stepping in drilled formation with practiced speed. Perhaps it slowed them down a hair, but it paid to keep themselves organized as if they were walking into an engagement. Brasidas thought so anyway, and he made sure he and Tychon kept their noses out of Miravet business. He had the feeling they would agree with him, however. It was going to be an annoying week, but as long as they continued moving forward and guarded their flanks, it would be a relatively safe one. 

Brasidas rode at the head of his Cataphracts, Menelaus cantering proudly at the head. By midday they were already miles away, the town of Arbela a monument in the background, now only visible from its high elevation, dominating the countryside they were now vacating. As Brasidas glanced back, Syf galloped his swift steed up to him, a smile on his face as always.

"What is it, Syf?" Brasidas asked, deinging to not even address the nomad properly. Tychon was checking with Archonan and the other Protos Lochias' moving up and down the contingent like a lumbering golem. Any of the new recruits, and some of the men who hadn't seen him in weeks, would still look at the size of the man with awe. Some of the others would snicker at their slack jawed stares, as a few Boreas men had seen true giants before. If Tychon was impressive, they would shit their trousers if they saw a full blooded titan. 

"Atvari approaching Arbela. Five miles away from the town. Looks like their Kahreed scouts watched us like Aubelon Three-eye," He said, referring to one of the local gods. Mystery cults popped up around the greater region every few years, but Brasidas was no expert. 

"Good," He replied, meaning it was good he was told. If they were five miles away from Arbela, it would take them an hour or two to muster the courage to find out if the army had left, and another hour or so to gather their strength and pursue, if they even wanted to chase them today. Perhaps they wouldn't have, but with the Satrap's daughter, it seemed a foregone conclusion now. Still, they could be twenty miles into the desert by the time the Kahreeds rode out in pursuit. "You do remember where we need to find the next watering hole, yes?" 

"I know of three, though no promises all of them are not dried up." Syf said with a shrug. "I hope they are filled with water. The miravets would start to swim again."

"I look forward to meeting your future miravet wife, Syf," Brasidas said. "I would enjoy seeing just how she would put you in her place."