Lor watched her go, the bread forgotten in his hand, his eyes narrowing as a chill crept up his spine.
"What the hell is she up to now?" he muttered, his voice low, a mix of curiosity and unease tightening his chest.
Lor dropped a silver coin onto the tavern table, the clink muffled by the hum of conversation around him.
He rose, slinging his satchel over his shoulder.
His mind gnawed at him, Ameth's image burning bright—her axe slung across her shoulder, her purposeful stride into the forest, the cold precision in her movements.
It wasn't unusual for townsfolk to gather firewood, but Ameth?
The girl who moved like an ice statue, who spoke in clipped syllables and sold vegetables?
Her stride had been different—driven, purposeful, like a blade aimed at a target.
Lor licked his lips, a spark of curiosity igniting in his chest. "If she's up to something, I need to see it."
