The afternoon wore on, shadows stretching longer as the sun dipped behind distant hills. The road ahead curved gently around a small ridge, and beyond it, a ribbon of forest began, dark and still.
Rhys slowed at the rise, scanning the tree line. "Could be ambushes," he said, voice low. "Or worse—wild beasts drawn by the smell of trolls."
Caria's eyes narrowed. "Not just the trolls. Bandits, maybe even mercenaries chasing coin or vengeance."
Puddle shifted closer, its surface rippling faintly as if reading the currents of the land. Rhys knelt beside it, hand hovering over its form. The connection was subtle but constant—an awareness of movement, tension, and the quiet whispers of life.
"Nothing yet," he murmured, standing and dusting off his hands. "Still, we stay cautious."
