With both hands gripping the reins, Luke leaned forward, his eyes narrowed beneath the shadow of his soaked hood as Vartha raced along the forest path. Mud splattered against the wheels and undercarriage, the scent of wet leaves thick in the air. Ilyrana sat beside him, one hand steadying the carriage and the other gripping the edge of the seat as the terrain jolted beneath them. Behind them, the woman clutched her child to her chest, trying to brace herself against the rattling motion, while the unconscious man lay wrapped in blankets at the rear.
Time felt like it moved in slow motion and fast-forward all at once.
They crested a hill—and there it was.
A modest town, nestled between the thick woods and hills. Wooden palisade walls encircled it, high enough to deter most threats, and two guards stood beneath a hastily-built watch post just outside the entrance. One of the guards was in mid-yawn when the sound of thundering paws and creaking wheels caught his attention.
