The cart rolled westward, leaving Oakhaven behind. The sun was warm on their faces, the sky clear and blue. The Carver lay in the back, bound and silent, his stumps wrapped in clean bandages. He had not spoken since the fight. He had nothing left to say.
Saeko held the reins loosely. The horse was old and steady, needing little guidance. Alex sat beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. They did not speak. There was no need.
The road wound through rolling hills and open fields. Wildflowers grew along the edges—purple and yellow and white, swaying in the breeze. Bees moved between them, heavy with pollen. The air smelled sweet.
They passed a small village at midday. A cluster of stone cottages around a central square. A fountain with a stone bird in its center. Children played in the streets, chasing a ball of knotted cloth. An old woman sat on a bench, watching them.
Saeko slowed the cart.
"Water," she said. "The horse needs water."
