They walked for the rest of the day, their pace slow but steady. The oppressive, dry heat of the desert began to lessen, replaced by a faint, humid warmth. The air no longer smelled of just dust and old bone. There was a new scent on the wind: the smell of damp earth, of wet leaves, of life.
As dusk began to fall, they finally reached it. The border between two worlds. In front of them, the grey, dead sand of the desert ended in a sharp, clean line.
Beyond that line was a wall of deep, dark green. A forest so thick and ancient that it seemed to swallow the light. This was the Whispering Mire.
"We camp here tonight," Rhys said, his voice practical. "We will enter the mire in the morning, with a full day's light."
They found a small, defensible spot on the edge of the desert, with their backs to a low, rocky outcrop and a clear view of the dark forest in front of them.
