"Oh for Grungi's sake wake up," a dwarven voice groused. Camilla came awake her hand reaching for where she had set her pistol before she realized it was Gunir. She sat up drawing the bearskin covers around her as she did so. The fire had burned down to smouldering embers and the chamber was cold but the faint light from outside suggested dawn had already broken. Cydric sat up and gave the dwarf a baleful look. Gunir didn't look to have slept, though with the cragy features of the Dawi it was hard to be certain. Flakes of snow lingered in his cloak and on his boots.

"Fine I'm up," Camilla said, pulling a cotton shift on over her shoulders and clambering out of bed. The shift hung to mid thigh and preserved her modesty as far as she cared to.

"Trouble, get dressed and come see," he said. There was a pecurliar tone to his voice, the kind dwarves got when they were happy to be the victims of bad luck. Camilla pulled on her leggings and a coat, buckling her sword and hanging her pistols. Cydric did the same, dressing with a quick economy of motion. Camillia didn't don her armor. The dwarf would have told her if that were required, but she did don a heavy cloak against the snow that could be seen falling through the expensive glass window. Gunir was waiting impatiently outside and without a word clomped out into the snow. It wasn't falling heavily but the day was bitter cold and the wind whipped the few flakes around widely. Soldiers had been picketed around the house though they largely huddled around fires made from the bodies of last nights intruders, trying to stay warm. Gunir led them out onto the snowy streets and up to the highest point on the city walls, near the north west tower. Soldiers were on the walls too, many pointing and muttering in low whispers. Camilla climbed onto the parapet and looked out into the early morning.

"Damn," she muttered in Tilean and reached for a spy glass she wasn't carrying. Gunir shoved one into her hands. It was intricate and of dwarven design so she handled it carefully, lifting it to her eye. Across the floor of the valley was the forest only...

"Damn,' she repeated again, "Myrmidia's tits..." The forest was at least a hundred yards closer to the walls than the last night. Worse yet it had grown across the road, the paved expanse of the highway ending at thick old growth forest that looked like it had been there for a hundred years and not over night. The spy glass was good enough that she could see where vast ancient roots had prized up the stones into an untidy sprawl.

"We are under siege..."