Brance hurried through the woods at a fast, loping run. In the sky above, clouds scurried after him, as if chased up in his wake. He passed the copse where they’d rested earlier; had it only been a few scant hours since they’d lain among the bushes, his leg the one that hindered them? Farther on he found the tattered remnants of Caleb’s discarded shirt. With a sense of direction borne of instinct alone, Brance followed their trail back to the stream near where they had camped. Earlier, chased by the hunters, their flight into the unknown had seemed to take forever but before Brance knew it, the camp came into sight, just on the other side of the stream. He slowed as he approached, the low mutterings of the water covering any sound he made. Keeping to the shadows, he crouched amid the leave
