Three days later, the road to Bramford looked tired of existing.
The path crossed low hills, small dark forests, and long stretches of damp stone that descended gradually toward the southeast of the vampiric continent. The smell of salt was already beginning to appear in the air, mixed with the scent of wet earth, coastal vegetation, and preserved blood coming from the pouches carried by the delegation. It was not a comfortable trip, but it was not a war march either. At least not officially.
Squad Seven followed together with Squad Six, forming an irregular line of vampire horses, dark cloaks, and mission equipment. The animals were larger than ordinary horses, with red eyes, dense muscles, and poor patience for anyone who did not know how to control them. They did not tire easily, did not startle at the smell of blood, and could run for hours over terrain where normal animals would break their legs.
Even so, two idiots decided to run beside them.
