The company broke camp late. No one hurried. Saddles were tightened with slow hands, armor buckled with weary motions. Even the horses seemed reluctant, snorting and stamping as if they too remembered the ambush on the ridge.
When they finally set out, the road felt emptier than it had the day before. Every missing face rode with them, ghosts in the spaces where comrades once laughed or cursed or sang.
Kaelen kept near the center of the column. His mare picked her way carefully along the muddy ruts. He watched the others more than the road. Deyric rode hunched in his saddle, eyes down, as though he might vanish if he made himself small enough. Garen muttered to himself, one hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. Mira’s gaze swept the hills constantly, sharper than any hawk’s
