A crowd bustled around them, nearly crushing them in its celebratory fervor. Anya wavered on her feet, dreamlike, held up only by the soldiers and camp followers which thronged around them. Rosalyn pushed back at the crowd, vainly trying to make room which filled in as soon as it was created. With a sigh, Argen drew his revolver and fired it into the air. The din of the crowd trailed off; a space opened around them and all eyes turned to him. He dropped the gun into his holster, and slipped his thumbs through his belt loops.
“Victory!” he yelled.
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