The smell of burning flesh still lingered in the air, mixed with the salty seawater lapping against the rocks surrounding the island.
Frieren shifted her weight on the rock, trying to find the perfect position again, when a shiver ran down her skin. Small, almost imperceptible. She opened one eye, but the sun was still there, warm, golden, inviting.
"...Strange," she murmured, before closing it again.
It was Rogue who noticed first. Her ear, trained in the silence of the hunt, picked up something that clashed with the crackling of the fire: a deep, rhythmic sound, like muffled drums. No, not drums. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Many.
She raised her head slowly, the skewer still in her hands, her eyes narrowing.
"Wait... did you hear that?"
Xyn suspended the blue magic controlling the fire, her gaze turning to the twisted forest that surrounded part of the island. An oppressive silence suddenly fell. Even the wind seemed to retreat.
