Logan's POV
The trees are tall and quiet out here, deep in the western ridge of the pack lands. The air is warm, humid, and without a breeze. As if even the wind is hesitant to breathe.
I walk beside Caleb in silence, our boots crunching over dry leaves and the cracked remnants of pine needles. The path is narrow, barely noticeable if you didn't know what you were looking for, and even then, the shadows play tricks. Caleb's voice shakes a bit as he speaks, tiredness lying in his words.
"The scouts found him sneaking out to the border. Apparently, he'd been doing it for a while," he says. "Neighbours noticed but they thought he was taking evening walks. Didn't think oxshit of it— heck, some of them even said it was nice seeing a young man like that stay active."
"And then?"
Caleb stops in front of our destination, "One night, he ran back home crying."
The shed before us looks like it's one strong breeze away from collapsing.
