[h2]Kreznik Broekke[/h2] 

The muted footfalls preceded the Hound; the scout slipping into the copse of pines that Kreznik had claimed for his little excursion. The man passed over a handful of paper's; smudged with charcoal and departed just as quickly. 

Kreznik and a handful of his men and woman had slipped towards the enemy vanguard in the hours of darkness. Armed, but their purposes were not of the offensive nature, their satchel's stuffed with rough sketches and notes of the approaching army made from observations. Though there were a few dispatches amongst the pile; courtesy of waylaid couriers that had taken wrong roads.

Their routes and the way which their formation's tended towards. A mosaic of partial information that Kreznik hastily assembled in his impromptu command post. Matching pre-conceived notions with the reports from his Hounds. Some of it was bound to be wrong; bias, darkness or misunderstanding bound to twist the reports in some way. 

But the picture that Kreznik arrived to fit what he had been given already. The numbers roughly matched up and their path of travel would put them where the battle was expected. Perhaps some harassing actions could be arranged but that would come later. 

For now it was time to bring this information back. 

*****

It was with a young moon that Kreznik slipped into Andronika's tent. Albeit, without the knowledge of the guards; some habits still hard to break. 

The young spymaster's cloak still coated in pines and dew as he searched the tent for Andronika. Hand's dipping into his satchel to show his hastily transcribed report. 

[@dyelli beybi]