Juna ran the valley like the dark had always belonged to her, nose searching the wind while Hajin kept pace three steps behind.
That distance let her choose the trail while still leaving him room to intervene before anything found her first.
The valley floor carried old scarring too, shallow channels where the soil had swallowed itself years ago.
A mile ahead the silent tower waited beneath the stars, promising either very good news or the other kind.
Halfway there the wind delivered its answer, blood over torn earth with something sour underneath.
Splintered fencing ringed a section of collapsed ground beneath a lamp swinging from the watchtower rail.
The light threw the clearing from yellow glare into blackness and back again, hiding details at random.
Trenches of thrown soil crossed the open ground in long ragged lines, dug fast and left uncovered because the digger had stopped caring.
Three older trap pits along the treeline had already been crushed flat.
