Gripping Anest's hand more tightly in both her own, Lily noted with a pang of loss the soldiers standing guard at the back door of Belloc's house. From a distance, the hedgerows, the shrubberies adjacent to the house, the tall trees and thick stands of copsewood, had belied any real change in the place, but a closer inspection revealed the truth. Gone was the safe, familiar home, set amidst a tumble of rolling, well-tilled fields dotted with farm buildings, and grassy meads redolent with the scent of wildflowers. The house was the headquarters now of an army of elves and men, and a barracks of the highest officers. The meads were beaten-down stubble shorn by grazing horses; the once-yielding ground was now impacted, unyielding and hard beneath one's feet.
Yet when they entered and met Triel of Brand in the study, the spare man with lanky hair and drooping moustache gave Lily an understanding look, and one of his rare, wintery smiles.
"So it is, young lady, that in time of war, everyone's home and all they own are less their own, if at all. Most folk living in remote places have lost everything, homes, farms, livestock and all, to the very armies that protect them. To make matters worse, a time of compensation following this war is unlikely at best, as we do not expect to win.