When night had fallen, Lachlan had silently moved his army to a clear space further down the path. Old stones with soot in their cracks littered the ground, evidence that a building had been destroyed with fire long ago, the remains half-buried in the ground and forgotten.
The Abbeydwellers were stubborn and determined, he would give them that. But he wasn't a beast to give up and forget anything that he set his golden eyes on. He'd have that Abbey, and then he'd move on to bigger things.
The Abbeydwellers were peaceful creatures, but could easily be stirred into great warriors if their precious pile of sandstone was threatened. If they were so eager for a fight, he would give it to them. eventually.
The winter was coming soon. He was sure he could work their weather to his advantage- they were used to warm summers, and declared their winters to be almost unbearably cold. But he'd survived through colder; their winter didn't bother him.
They would be well-stocked with their new harvest, though, and his army relied on their supplies and whatever they could hunt and forage from the woods around them.
It didn't matter if the Abbey fell before or after winter, Lachlan decided. It would fall eventually.
For now, he'd decided to let them sit in their prison, to spend their days worried, til the anxiety of an oncoming battle drove them insane. But beyond that, he would wear down their defenses and nerves by small attacks, at random hours on random days, for no reason at all.
And all would come falling down