If it weren't for the very real threat of getting killed, or worse, sold off into some miserable life of slavery, Cherion might have actually enjoyed the view. Specifically, the view of Soren and his two bumbling henchmen flailing about in the snow, shrieking as if their eyeballs were being marinated in battery acid.
He didn't feel bad. Not even a little bit. Call it a lack of empathy, but when a group of people starts debating whether you'd be more profitable as a corpse, a slave, or a high-end male prostitute, you tend to lose your appetite for the high moral ground.
But God, the North was miserable.
