The roar of engines tore through the quiet of the Sylven River, breaking its ancient calm. One by one, the boats surged forward, their wakes slicing the dark water like scars that quickly vanished.
Group by group, the expedition moved.
The leaders stayed ahead, silhouettes sharp and commanding. The followers came after, shadows stretched long across the river's surface.
Miles stood at the bow of his boat, Maddock seated behind him, steady hands resting on his gear. The river wind carried the scent of wet earth and leaves older than memory.
Basil's voice carried from the neighbouring boat.
"We enter the forest after seven miles. Thirty one miles ahead, there is a waterfall. We stop at thirty, then we walk."
Sheikh adjusted his coat, glancing uneasily at the water.
"Can we not camp beside the river and begin in the daylight?"
Artem shook his head slowly.
