The night swallowed their retreat, broken only by the labored breathing of exhausted horses and the occasional groan of the wounded.
No torches lit their path, light would only make them targets. They rode blind through darkness thicker than ink, guided by Ashgard's scouts who somehow found passage where others saw only shadow.
Soren's gelding stumbled beneath him, nearly sending him tumbling from the saddle. The poor beast had been running for hours without rest, foam flecking its heaving sides. He leaned forward, patting its sweat-slick neck.
"Just a little further," he murmured, though he had no idea if that was true.
The shard against his chest remained cold, Valenna unnervingly silent since they'd fled the camp. Her absence left him feeling strangely exposed, as if a shield had been withdrawn when he needed it most.
Ahead, Lord Ashgard rode with spine rigid as iron, his silhouette a darker shadow against the night.
