Lucius watched the ship retreat into the horizon, its sails catching the sea breeze until it was no more than a pale shape between waves and sky. With it went his last real tether to the outside world.
What remained was the wilderness he loathed: the damp forest, the clinging insects, the constant tension of being hunted or discovered.
Back again, to the thing he hated most.
He turned his eyes to the small satchel still held in his hand. The leather was worn but well-kept, the seal unbroken. His thumb absently traced over the edges. It felt heavier than it was, because of what it contained.
"Ebran. Vallah," he called without raising his voice.
The two men looked up from their idle chatter and straightened.
"Get the supplies in the carriage.''
