The forest was quiet again, though not the peaceful kind of quiet. It was simply the kind that breathed and watched.
Wooosh~
Every gust of wind that stirred the blackened leaves sounded like something alive was holding its breath.
Damien walked at the rear of the group, one hand resting casually against the hilt of his blade, eyes half-lidded but never relaxed. Every few paces, his gaze flicked from the trees to the ground, then to the faint tracks that trailed like veins through the earth.
Ahead of him, the small band of survivors he'd nearly killed only an hour ago trudged along, guided by the soft golden glow that filtered through the canopy. The two women huddled close to one another.
One clutched a child against her chest; the other walked beside Aquila, her face pale from awe and fear. The children — three of them, all too young to understand the danger they were in — sat atop the griffin's back, their tiny fingers tangled in its feathers.
