A small hooded figure was walking up the road.
The scouts at the head of the column had spotted her half a mile out, first as a wavering speck in the afternoon haze, then as an unmistakable child in a traveler's cloak walking a straight line toward the marching ranks of the Vraven scout regiment.
The captain at the head of the formation signaled a halt. The signal rippled back through the column, each unit slowing until the march had stopped and hundreds of boots stilled against the dirt.
The small figure kept coming.
Her cloak was grey with road dust and the hood was pulled forward far enough that the face beneath it was lost. The captain exchanged a look with his second, and somewhere in the front ranks a spearman lowered his weapon and leaned on it.
"...is she lost?"
"Little girl! You hurt?"
"Maybe she's retarded," a third voice offered. "Just look at her."
"This is no place for youngsters, go home to your mother!"
