As the journey continued, the wagon men looked at Darion in awe.
They had been traveling for quite some time now, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, and yet they still couldn't shake the image of those headless bodies lying in the sand.
The memory clung to them like a shadow, a constant reminder of what had happened.
Finally, one of them worked up the courage to speak.
"I'm guessing you are the one that made the men headless," he said, his voice hesitant. "But how? We were on the ground. We didn't see anything. There was no sound, no struggle. And then—" He paused, shaking his head. "And then they were just... gone. Their heads, I mean. How is that possible?"
The other wagon men nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of curiosity and fear. They had seen strange things in their travels, but nothing like this. Nothing so sudden, so silent and so brutal.
Taking nine men's heads off should have taken time. It should have been messy, loud, and chaotic.
