The night was deep, the stars cold and distant, when the villagers finally collapsed upon the southern bank of the river. Exhaustion weighed on every man, woman, and child. Many had fled barefoot, their clothes torn, their faces streaked with soot and sweat. They clung together in small groups, shivering despite the summer air.
Cael sat apart from the crowd, his body trembling from the strain of wielding the mark. Mira hovered close, fussing despite his weak protests, laying a cloak across his shoulders. Rowan stood guard a short distance away, his axe planted in the earth, his eyes sweeping the treeline.
No one spoke loudly. Even the children whispered, their voices muffled, as though the whole company feared the forest might be listening.
But for all their fear, they were alive.
And
