In the deep hours of the night, when the fire had burned down to glowing embers and the forest was filled with the soft sounds of sleeping people, Darian's eyes suddenly opened.
His warrior instincts, sharpened by years of danger, had sensed something wrong.
He lay still for a moment, listening carefully to the sounds of the forest.
There—the snap of a twig, the soft whisper of cloth against leaves, footsteps trying to be quiet but not quite quiet enough.
Moving slowly so as not to wake the others, Darian rolled to his side and reached over to touch Morgana's shoulder.
She woke instantly, her eyes alert and focused.
"Someone's coming," he whispered, so softly that even Jaenor, sleeping nearby, couldn't hear him.
Morgana listened for a moment, then her face grew pale. She could sense the people who were headed their way.
"I know who it is," she said, her voice filled with dread.
