Asher and the others had long gone off the road and were now trudging through a forest thicker than any of them expected.
It was late at night, and thank the moon they had their wolf sight else they'd have tripped over every gnarled root and gotten whipped by every low-hanging branch clawing at them from all directions.
The rogues had hidden themselves well which wasn't surprising. Lone wolves were always on the move, always adapting, and no one survived as long as they had without learning how to vanish in plain sight.
The trail should have faded hours ago, but Asher had to admit he was impressed. The Fae was moving ahead with the kind of confidence that came from instinct, not guesswork, leading them unerringly through the maze of undergrowth.
