The sound of the stream grew clearer as we moved forward. It wasn't a wide river or especially deep, but in winter it always commanded a certain respect. The water ran dark between sheets of ice that had formed along the banks, breaking softly with the current.
When the first cart reached the shore, Serin raised her hand to signal another pause.
"We cross one at a time," she ordered calmly. "Keep your distance and don't rush the horses."
It wasn't the first time we had passed through that point, but the partial thaw made it treacherous. The snow piled along the edges hid dips and loose stones.
Leofric was one of the first to move forward, testing the ground with the base of his spear before the cart behind him began the crossing. I stayed to his left, watching for any movement upstream.
The water barely reached the wheels, but the sound changed immediately; the crunch of snow was replaced by splashing and the scrape of ice against wood.
One horse hesitated halfway across, snorting forcefully. One of the workers approached from the other side and spoke to it quietly until it resumed walking. One by one, the carts crossed without major trouble.
When it was my turn to step onto the wetter section, the cold pierced through the sole of my boot almost instantly. It wasn't painful, but it was uncomfortable. I quickened my pace until I reached the other bank and shook some of the snow stuck to the leather.
We resumed the march. The forest began to open almost imperceptibly. The trees were no longer so close together, and between the trunks wider spaces began to appear, as if the land were preparing to open up.
The sun was already setting, so Serin decided to make the first stop. While the workers set up the tents, the group of guards was eating, speeding up the process. Hard bread, dried meat, and a bit of water.
Claire approached us while biting into a piece of bread.
"If we keep this up, it won't be long before we arrive," she commented.
That simple phrase was enough to lift my spirits; knowing there wasn't much left before we arrived reassured me. On the other hand, Rowan, as always, didn't show much enthusiasm.
"Don't lower your guard just because it smells like home," he said calmly.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, old man," I said, waving my hand, even though I knew he was right and that I would follow his advice.
We resumed the march the next day. The terrain began to slope gently upward. From that slight height, the forest stretched out before us like a white and dark green sea.
The wind had diminished and the sky remained clear. I walked in silence, listening to the steady rhythm of the convoy. I no longer felt the same unease as before, but neither a complete calm. It was something in between. Expectation, perhaps.
The climb was steady for much of the morning. It wasn't demanding, but it forced us to keep an even pace so as not to exhaust the horses. From the top, more open areas could be seen between the forest, clearings that marked the road's advance toward more traveled lands.
The second day passed without incident.
We traveled for hours between stretches of dense forest and more open sections where the wind ran freely. We made two brief stops to check straps and give water to the horses. Nothing out of the ordinary. No strange noises. No shadows moving where they shouldn't.
The tension of the first day gradually faded. Conversations began to appear in short intervals, simple comments about the cold, the state of the road, or what each person would do upon returning.
By nightfall we found relatively clear ground beside a group of low rocks that offered some shelter. We camped there. The tents went up quickly; everyone already knew exactly what to do and in what order.
That night the atmosphere was different. Not completely relaxed, but lighter. The fire crackled under control and the sky remained clear, full of stars.
"By noon tomorrow we should reach Briarwood," said one of the more veteran guards while stirring the embers of the fire with a stick.
"Briarwood?" I asked, not knowing what they were referring to.
Everyone exchanged glances, then looked at me. "What do you mean?" Claire asked.
"I mean, what is Briarwood?" I repeated.
They all looked at each other again and then began laughing uncontrollably.
"It's the name of the town, idiot. Did you really not know? You've been living there for almost a year," she looked at me with a bewildered expression.
"I'd never thought about it. I just assumed it was called 'town' or something like that," I excused my stupidity and shrugged. A few minutes later, when everyone stopped talking about it, I got up and went to sleep. The truth was, I was pretty embarrassed about what had just happened, but I had to pretend otherwise so it wouldn't get worse.
The third day dawned colder than the previous ones. Frost covered the tent ropes and our breath turned into thick vapor in front of our faces. We broke camp with almost automatic movements and resumed the road before the sun had fully risen.
The forest gradually began to transform. The trees were more spaced out, the ground firmer. The path, wider. Clear signs that we were approaching more frequently traveled areas.
The change wasn't abrupt, but it was evident. As we advanced, markings began to appear on the trunks—clean axe cuts to signal the road. Further ahead, I even noticed old wheel tracks hardened in the mud beneath the snow.
We were no longer the only ones using that route.
The sun finished rising and with it came a different clarity. The forest didn't feel as deep or as foreign. The air smelled less of damp wood and more of distant smoke, almost imperceptible.
In front of us stretched a snow-covered plain, crossed by the main road that led straight to the town. In the distance, barely outlined against the pale midday sky, rose the houses of the small settlement of Briarwood.
The convoy slowed slightly. Almost by inertia, the formation gradually broke apart. Some of the workers straightened their backs. One of the horses neighed with more energy than it had all morning.
"There it is," Claire murmured, with a barely contained smile.
Rowan said nothing, but I noticed how his posture relaxed just enough to stop looking like a statue.
As we drew closer, details began to stand out; movement of people, the houses with their snow-covered roofs, smoke rising from several chimneys. Even from that distance, the faint sound of activity reached us in gusts carried by the wind.
I felt something strange in my chest. It wasn't euphoria, nor simple relief. It was a mix of accumulated exhaustion and quiet satisfaction.
When we finally reached the entrance, the guards recognized us. One seemed to give an order to the other, and the latter ran trotting into the town.
As I set foot inside Briarwood, the sound changed once more. It was no longer the isolated crunch of the forest, but the contained murmur of a lived-in place. Distant voices. Doors opening. A stray hammer strike somewhere in the distance.
I exhaled slowly, not realizing I had been holding my breath.
At last, we were back.