Good.
He needs to.
We crest a shallow rise, and the land opens up slightly beyond it, fields stretching out in uneven patches of green and brown where crops were either harvested too early or left to dry out entirely. A fence runs along the far edge, half-collapsed in places, the wood splintered and weathered.
“Stop,” I say, lifting a hand.
The line halts behind me, not instantly, but fast enough.
I crouch slightly, pressing my fingers into the soil near the edge of the path. It’s still warm from the day’s heat, but beneath that, it’s too loose. Recently disturbed.
“Tracks,” someone mutters behind me.
“Yes,” I say, brushing dirt aside to expose the impressions more clearly. “But not ours.”
I trace the edge of one with my finger, feeling the depth of it.
“Too deep for light movement,” I continue. “Too scattered for formation.”
“Orcs?” another asks.
I shake my head, pushing back to my feet.
“No,” I say. “Too disorganized.”
That earns a pause.
“Then what?”
“People running,” I reply.
That lands heavier.
I straighten fully, scanning the horizon again, letting my eyes adjust to the way the land opens and closes in uneven waves.
“They passed through fast,” I add. “Didn’t stop.”
“From what?” someone asks.
I don’t answer that.
Because we already know.
“Keep moving,” Verr says behind me, his voice cutting through the moment cleanly. “Stay tight.”
The line shifts again, more controlled this time.
I move forward without waiting.
We reachthe first settlement just past midday.
Or what’s left of it.
The smell hits first—burned wood, damp ash, something sharper underneath it that I don’t let myself name right away. The buildings are still standing for the most part, but the doorsare broken in, the windows shattered, and the ground is littered with things people didn’t have time to carry.
“Slow,” I say quietly, lifting a hand again.
This time, they don’t question it.
