The caravan moved in slow, steady gallops along the narrow dirt path that carved its way through the heart of the woods. The trees loomed tall and ancient, their branches knitting together overhead like a cathedral ceiling of shadow and frost. The air carried a biting chill that crept beneath their cloaks and into their bones, relentless and ruthless.
Zander rode at the front, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the terrain with practiced precision. Behind him, Adam and Ella followed, their horse moving in rhythm with the others; then came Ivan, Beric, Odran, Ozias, and Roland, forming a staggered line that faded into the darkness.
Night had settled fully now, and the forest seemed to breathe differently under its cover. The temperature had dropped sharply, and every gust of wind felt like a whisper from winter itself.
Ella sneezed once, then after rubbing her nose lightly, she sneezed again, and again a few moments after that.
