“The winds have felt more brisk lately. Autumn is upon us… Soon after that: winter.”
The tactician took a moment to take in the air, enjoying the breeze.
(“I can appreciate the fairer clime of Ylisse. It feels /much/ better than being baked under the sun in >
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> Plegia, or freezing my fingers off in Regna Ferox.”)
Amidst the many relaxing strolls Robin takes in between war meetings and studying, she was particularly fond of the autumn’s cozy feel. It was unlike anything she’s experienced before. That is to say, what she /could>
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“I feel like I’m forgetting something. Specifically: something about today… Hm… I wonder what it is…” Robin ruminated, habitually pinching her chin.
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“Mmngh…” The tactician slowly came to consciousness; eyes crusted from heavy sleep. She looked around to see she was still at her desk. Evidently, she allowed the clutches of slumber take her. Morning light entered in from the window, basking the room in its warm, gentle >
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("Many believe that being a tactician is nothing more than playing armchair general, and barking orders from the comforts of my office. On the contrary, there are /plenty/ of factors that require every ounce of my attention: weapons, supplies, solders, morale, weather, so on >
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> Tomes lay strewn about her desk in organized chaos, if you will. Giving in to tiredness, she finally made the decision to close her journal. There was, indeed, more to do in the morning--so no need to overdo it.
A yawn escaped from her shaky breath. Robin felt her eyes grow >
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“Locke’s singing up a storm. Not quite sure what it’s about, though, but I’m enjoying it nonetheless.”
(“‘Regna Ferox…’ I’m afraid the name doesn’t ring a bell. From what I’ve been told, they don’t take kindly to outsiders.
If we’re to requisition troops on Emmeryn’s behalf, I sincerely hope our parley with the Khan doesn’t go awry…”) Robin thought, concerned for the >
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