After the fight, the road seemed quieter, as if even the forest had decided to respect the trail of bodies they had left behind. The wind died down, carrying only the metallic smell of blood already beginning to freeze on the snow.
Damon shoved his hands into the pockets of his makeshift cloak and whistled, striding after Ester. "Well, that was a warm welcome. I wonder if all travelers receive such a welcome."
"They were just bandits," Ester replied, without turning her head. Her voice was effortless, as if the confrontation had meant nothing to her. "Winter makes them hungry. They attack anything that seems to breathe."
"Mmm." Damon smiled, looking at his hands. He still remembered the strange sensation of ice coating his fists. Strange and... addictive.
Time passed slowly, but little by little the horizon began to change. The forest thinned, the trees became more spaced, and the distant sound of voices, wagon wheels, and hammers began to echo on the wind.
