The company moved like a weary beast across the low country, its steps measured, its breath ragged. What had once been a column of two hundred was now barely half that, their numbers worn thin by ambush, desertion, and wounds that never had time to heal. The morning mist clung to the grasslands, veiling the horizon and muting sound so that every hoof-fall, every jangle of armor, carried too far. Even the crows seemed hesitant to call.
Kaelen rode near the front, his cloak drawn close against the damp air. Beside him, Roran hunched over his saddle, silent save for the occasional curse as he shifted his injured leg. The wound had not closed clean, and the long marches reopened it daily. Still, he refused to ride in the supply cart. He would not let the men see him as broken.
Behind them, G
