“I ask myself that same thing every day,” he grumbled as he stomped past her. Getting helpless stares from everybody else, Venla sent a withering look in the direction of Patrick, and then continued onwards.
Eventually, they began to angle to the North. The scenery never changed, but the angle of the sun and the whispering return of the breeze from the North provided an unwelcome reminder as to what faced them. The track angled towards a gully in the edge of the hill from which a stream was trickling. They had stopped to drink when Gwyn held up his hand for silence. Voices penetrated the shroud of the trees. Venla looked around at the group. All were crouched, barely breathing. Something was wrong, but she could not place what it was. The voices got closer, more distinct. “They are on tha
