The spring thaw had barely settled when the first travelers from the southern route appeared. They were different from the usual newcomers. These were not lost souls seeking shelter or scholars seeking knowledge. They were a family, three generations of them, and they came with animals and carts and the unmistakable air of people who had made a long journey with intention.
I saw them first from the eastern ridge. A line of figures moving through the thinning trees, slow and deliberate. They had not come through the fire path or the water path. They had come through the wild edge, the part of the garden that we had not fully mapped or tamed.
Julian stood beside me, his hand shading his eyes against the morning light. "They know the land. Look how they move. They are not lost."
"No. They
