Chapter 9: ScarsThe pine trees closed in around us, trying their best to blot out the late morning sun. All around me was the nervous muttering of the Mad Riders and the sounds of feet and hooves crunching through the thick blanket of needles that coated the ground. I barely registered the sounds, hardly noticed my own exhaustion from using so much essence during the fight. All of my attention was focused on looking for any signs of the camp.
When the first tent came into view, I vaulted off of Sir Brown Horse and tore into the camp on foot. A few men and women in dirty tunics and robes were milling about, handkerchiefs tied around their faces or necks. They looked at me, eyes wide in fear. Perhaps they thought I was another attacker. I ignored the gawkers, though, looking for a familiar
