The sun had already climbed high, its light filtering through thick branches as the caravan rolled down a narrow forest path. Birds darted between trees, their songs drowned out by the creak of carriage wheels and the steady clop of hooves.
Hours had passed since their departure from the city.
The rhythmic motion of the carriage — and the sheer monotony of the road — had lulled even adventurers into a lazy calm.
Oliver leaned against the side of the second carriage, arms folded, half-asleep but still vaguely aware of the world around him. Across from him, Ariana sat slumped, her staff resting against her shoulder as she dozed, her lips parting slightly with each slow breath.
Isolde sat near the window, her eyes half-lidded — not sleeping, but clearly relaxed, chin propped on one hand as she watched the forest slide by.
The first few hours had been uneventful, save for the occasional bump of the wheels. But the peace didn't last long.
