The forest was grey and cold and the silver light that had been everywhere last night was absent in the day, replaced by the flat autumn light that made the trees look like they were made of stone. My feet found the path without me choosing it muscle memory from years of walking this forest alone taking over when my lungs and my legs were too occupied to navigate consciously.
I burst through a line of dense pine.
And stopped.
The eastern border.
The line where Ironveil territory ended and the Ashwood became neutral ground before it crossed into Dawnridge land. Marked by a row of old stones half buried in the earth, covered in moss, older than anyone living.
I stood at the stones and pressed my hand to the nearest tree and tried to breathe.
Behind me the footsteps had stopped.
Ironve
