The rocky wasteland did not improve with familiarity.
Renji had hoped, in a vague and optimistic way, that his eyes might adjust to it — that the jagged hills and broken ground would start to read as navigable terrain rather than a landscape that had been specifically designed to make travel unpleasant. They did not. The darkness settled over everything like a second layer of hostility, turning the irregular rock formations into shapes that didn't quite look right when you caught them in your peripheral vision, and the shadows that pooled between the hills were the kind you instinctively gave extra room.
He kept one hand resting near the hilt of his sword. He hadn't made a conscious decision to do it. His hand had simply arrived there at some point and declined to leave.
The sounds were the worst part.
