With the appearance of early spring, the denes and plains of southern Italy exfoliate their downtime silence, awakening with the restless murmurs of renewed conflict. The wind that swept across the Ionian seacoast carried with it the smell of blooming vineyards and damp soil, yet beneath this pledge of renewal lay the heavy shadow of war. Farmers returning to their fields set up the earth scarred with the remnants of camps, fosses, and forgotten spearheads buried in the slush. Roads were worn deep by cart bus hauling inventories to and from Tarentum, and distant columns of bank marked the shops where blacksmiths pounded munitions for
