The Indigo Hour
Her boots crunched against the blood-soaked frost as the red sun melted into the horizon. Smoke lingered like restless spirits over what remained of Caesaria Hill’s fortified entrance—a testament to the Roman Empire’s fearsome reach. Livia adjusted her woolen cloak, punctuated in deep indigo dyes, over her patchwork cuirass. The quake of barbarian war drums echoed through the vale; another invasion, another battle for survival. She rolled her shoulders beneath the sturdy density of her homemade linen tunic, threaded together with care and desperation. Yet it was the deep cobalt kilt of layered vellum leather, tied snugly with an iron clasp, that gave her speed in battle—a borrowed look from Rome’s distant Gaul campaigns, though belted with her own sense of defiance.
The stark strains of battle and growing change of Roman decentralisation where shock equally.
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