The forest path stretched long, roots and rocks knotting underfoot, but no one complained.
For the Fossa clan, silence had become second nature—safety lived in the absence of noise.
Only the rustle of clothing and the soft tread of boots carried through the trees.
Fazer stuck close to Arthur's side, his young face alert, eyes darting to every sound.
Abigail kept slightly behind them, her gaze shifting between the children, the pregnant women, and her husband's back.
She carried herself with calm discipline, but her grip on the strap of her pack was tight, her knuckles pale.
Ronan caught up with Arthur, his bulk moving with surprising ease through the undergrowth. "We'll need to stop soon," he said low. "The little ones are fading. Another hour and they'll stumble."
Arthur nodded without looking away from the path. "Find cover first. Then we stop."
Darven, ahead with his scouts, raised a hand, signaling.
The column slowed.
He crouched, fingers brushing the dirt.
When Arthur reached him, Darven pointed at a broken twig bent inward. "Someone moved through here. Not long ago."
Arthur crouched as well, crimson eyes narrowing. "How many?"
"Three, maybe four. Boots, not bare. Not villagers." Darven's voice was flat.
Abigail stepped closer, pulling Fazer lightly toward her as though shielding him from the words.
Her eyes locked on Arthur's, and though she said nothing, her meaning was clear.
Arthur stood, dusting his hands. "We keep moving. Ronan, pull the women and children into the center. Kira, widen your sweep. If it's a patrol, we'll see them before they see us."
The group shifted as ordered.
Abigail placed a hand on Fazer's shoulder, steering him closer to the middle.
He looked up at her, frustration flashing in his crimson eyes. "I can help scout," he whispered.
Arthur's head turned slightly, catching the words. A faint, almost-smile tugged at his mouth.
"One day, Fazer. But not today. Today you stay close."
Fazer scowled, but he obeyed.
Still, he carried the words like a weight, filing them deep in his chest.
They pressed forward until the forest thickened into a clearing, half-ringed by tall oaks.
The ground dipped into a shallow hollow—concealed enough for a rest.
Arthur lifted a hand, and the column eased down.
Mothers settled with children, easing packs off their shoulders.
One of the pregnant women sat carefully on a flat stone, sighing with relief.
Ronan passed out strips of dried meat and hard bread, his big hands surprisingly gentle as he offered food to the youngest.
Abigail knelt by Fazer, brushing back his black hair with her fingers.
"Eat," she said softly, pressing bread into his hand. "You'll need your strength."
Fazer bit into it reluctantly, eyes still scanning the treeline like he was mimicking his father.
Arthur didn't sit.
He stood at the edge of the hollow, arms folded, gaze sweeping the shadows between trees.
Kira returned from the flank, her dark hair damp with sweat. "No patrol. The tracks turned east." She knelt, catching her breath. "They're searching—but not here. Not yet."
Arthur gave a single nod. "Good. That buys us time."
Abigail looked up at him, her voice sharp but quiet. "Time for what, Arthur? To keep running? Or to lead these people into another fight?"
The words cut more than she intended.
Even some of the clan members nearby glanced over before dropping their eyes again.
Arthur met her stare, crimson eyes steady. "Time to reach safety," he said. His voice carried the weight of finality, but beneath it was something softer, something that didn't quite reach his face.
Abigail's lips pressed tight.
She turned back to Fazer, smoothing his shirt as if the simple act could shield him from what was coming.
Darven broke the moment, straightening from where he'd been crouched. "The way ahead's clear for now. If we leave within the hour, we can reach the river before dusk. That'll cover our trail."
Arthur gave a short nod. "Then we move."
As the clan packed up again, Abigail tied her shawl tighter and adjusted Fazer's pack for him.
Her hand lingered on his shoulder.
He glanced at her, catching the worry in her eyes, and for once he didn't argue.
The Fossa clan rose as one, dark shirts and red eyes glinting in the filtered light.
They slipped back into the trees, moving steady, a shadowed line weaving deeper into the forest.
Fazer looked ahead at his father's back, tall and unyielding, and thought—maybe for the first time—that the path of the clan was now his path too.
The river came into view as the sun tilted low, spilling copper light across the water.
Its current ran strong, cutting a silver path through the forest.
For the weary, it felt like a boundary crossed—one more step between them and the hunters who trailed too close behind.
Arthur raised a hand and the clan slowed, boots crunching soft on the bank.
He scanned both ways along the river, his eyes narrowing against the glare. "We cross here," he said. "The current will take our scent downstream. They'll lose time searching."
Ronan waded first, water rising quick against his thighs.
He braced himself and stretched an arm back to steady the women carrying children.
Abigail followed, lifting her skirts just enough to keep them from dragging.
She kept one hand firm on Fazer's arm as the boy stumbled against the pull of the river.
"Keep your feet under you," she told him, voice steady despite the cold biting through the water. "Lean with me."
Fazer grit his teeth and nodded, gripping tighter. His crimson eyes stayed locked ahead, on Arthur's silhouette—broad, unmoving, like a pillar that wouldn't be swept away.
When they reached the far bank, the clan gathered in a ragged circle, dripping and shivering.
Arthur checked the count, his gaze flicking over every face until he found Abigail and Fazer. Only then did his shoulders ease by a fraction.
Darven crouched near the mud, studying the ground. "Good choice," he said quietly. "Their scouts won't track us through this. But they'll know soon enough that we slipped past."
Arthur gave a short nod. "Which is why we don't stop long."
Abigail wrung out her sleeves, watching him. "You'll drive them until they collapse if you're not careful," she said under her breath. Her eyes slid toward the children curled in their mothers' arms. "Even the river's worn them down."
Arthur's jaw tightened.
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then, softer than before: "I know."
Fazer sat on a log, peeling off his boots to pour out water.
His toes were red from the cold, but he made no sound.
Instead, he glanced at the others—watching the way the older Fossa men stood, the way they held themselves as though even rest was another form of readiness. He mimicked their straight posture, his small shoulders squared.
Abigail caught it, the sight of her son imitating men who lived every day with a blade at their back.
Her chest tightened.
She knelt beside him, drying his feet with the corner of her shawl.
"You're not them," she said quietly. "Not yet."
Fazer looked at her, lips pressed tight. He didn't argue, but the silence in his eyes said he wished he could.
Before the moment stretched further, Kira appeared from the treeline, her hair damp with sweat. "Tracks again," she reported. "They've split their numbers. One group moving east, another sweeping north. We'll have a window if we push deeper tonight."
Arthur straightened, water still dripping from his cloak.
His voice carried firm, leaving no room for hesitation. "Then we don't waste it. We reach Porter Village before sunrise."
The clan stirred at his words, gathering their things, adjusting their loads.
Even in fatigue, they moved with the quiet discipline of those who had no choice.
Abigail fastened Fazer's boots again, tying the laces herself.
Her hands lingered a moment longer than needed, then she rose and fell in step beside him.
The Fossa line moved into the trees once more, crimson eyes catching the faint starlight as the forest swallowed them whole.