He ordered everyone to slow down, even though the thick morning mist severely restricted Zerith's sensory capabilities, Sol wasn't gonna take any chances.
The squad dropped onto their bellies, their bodies sinking into the thick fern-growth without a sound. One hundred and eighty spirit warriors pressed themselves flat against the wet earth, holding their breath as they dragged their bone weapons through the mud.
Thanks to the alpha hound's soul, he could literally feel the spiritual vibrations and breathing patterns of the outer sentries without even looking.
Sol pointed to Hargon and threw his hand toward a low gully on the left. He didn't use words; a simple tilt of his chin told the boar-spirit veteran to take his squad through the hollow where the mist was thickest.
Hargon nodded, his eyes full of respect, and waved his twenty men forward. They glided through the mud like lizards.
