The trees stood still, branches swaying like old fingers in the mist. The air reeked of damp soil, blood, and something else, expectation.
The young noble clicked his tongue, arms crossed, irritation flickering across his face like a child denied a toy.
"What are those trashes doing? I told them to kill that spider, not take a vacation. Did they run away?"
The old knight at his side said nothing at first. His eyes were on the treeline, scanning the foggy expanse where the men had vanished. Twenty-four armed soldiers. Not scouts. Not amateurs. Killers. Hardened. Loyal.
They should've returned by now.
His jaw tightened beneath the shadow of his cloak.
'They didn't run. Not in these woods. Not unless something ran faster.'
He glanced at the young master, too young, too proud, too blind.
"Running would be foolish," the knight finally said, voice gravel-thick. "Especially here. Even the stupid knows better than to stray alone with monsters still hunting."
