Reidar leaned against the bark of a giant redwood. The fury that had pushed him from Havenwood had cooled down, leaving behind a bitter doubt.
He stared into the dense vegetation, as if that would give him clues about what to do.
Was leaving really the right thing to do?
He ran a hand over his face. Stupidity was a self-inflicted wound, and Martin Vance had been practically bleeding from it.
But the people of Havenwood… they weren't all accomplices. They were just survivors, caught in the crossfire of a war they didn't understand, led by a man playing a dangerous game of chess with pieces he couldn't afford to lose and a master player on the other side.
Did they deserve to suffer for their leader's idiocy?
He'd come here to help—a simple, almost foolish idea that felt stupid now. Martin's actions were like a slap in the face, a cold use of his good intentions.
