Dawn came gray and thin, a colorless light filtering through the canopy. Mist still clung to the ravine, heavy as sleep, and the air smelled of iron and wet bark.
Kaelen stood at the stream’s edge, boots sunk in the mud. The cold water lapped at his ankles as he watched the others stir awake, slow, clumsy movements of bodies that had forgotten what rest felt like.
Roran was already up, leaning on a spear as if it were part of him. His leg was bound tight, but each step drew a grimace. He didn’t complain. He just barked orders in a low voice that cut through the groans of the waking camp.
“Pack light. No fires. We move east with the water. Stay close, stay quiet. If you fall behind, you’re on your own.”
No one argued. They were too tired for that now.
Kaelen turned from the stream and
