But enough.
Talen shifts behind me, spear already half-raised, his grip tightening. “What is it?” he asks, his voice lower now, matching mine without thinking.
I don’t answer immediately. I step forward instead, just one pace, angling slightly so I can see more of the tree line without turning my back on the others.
“Listen,” I say.
They do.
I can hear it in the way their breathing changes, the way their bodies still.
A second passes.
Then another.
Jarek’s jaw tightens. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly,” I reply.
That lands.
I see it in the way his shoulders shift, the irritation draining out of him, replaced with something tighter.
“Back toward the open?” Talen asks, already adjusting his stance.
“Yes,” I say, picking up the spear I’d leaned against the sack. “Slow. Don’t turn your back.”
We start to move, not running, not yet, just widening our spacing, stepping away from the tree line instead of toward it.
The first branch snaps before we make three steps.
Too close.
Jarek swears under his breath, dropping the rope entirely as his hand goes to his blade. “Too late,” he mutters.
“Maybe,” I say, shifting my grip on the spear. “Maybe not.”
They step out of the trees like they’ve been there the whole time.
Not rushing.
Not loud.
Just—
There.
Orcs fan out in a loose arc, not tight enough to restrict their own movement, but close enough that there’s no clean path through them. Their weapons stay low, not raised, not threatening yet, which somehow makes it worse.
They’re not here to kill us quickly.
They’re here to take something.
My grip tightens.
“How many?” Jarek murmurs, stepping closer to my left, his voice barely more than breath.
“Enough,” I say.
