“You'll want to get off here," Iva muttered, pulling the reins as the caravan creaked up the hill.
Adele peered from beneath her hood. Beyond the frostbitten trees lay a sleepy hamlet nestled in the valley—half-buried in snow, half-forgotten by the world.
“Thornridge," Iva said. “No patrols. No questions. Just mud, livestock, and gossip."
Adele nodded once.
Iva tossed her a leather satchel. “Dried meat. Crushed feverroot. And a map, in case you decide to keep running."
Adele blinked, surprised.
“You saved one of my crew from a trap last week," Iva said. “Figured I owed you. Don't make me regret it."
Adele's throat bobbed. She touched her fingers to her heart, then to Iva.
“Safe paths, mute girl."
With that, the cart rolled on, leaving Adele alone beneath falling snow.
---
##Late
