Juna reached the old road ridge before dawn with the glaive across her shoulders and Wren wheezing somewhere behind.
The fort squatted in the grey valley below, its chains silent and its bucket lines still asleep.
'Hajin wants a way out for every worker down there, and I want it first.'
Wren staggered up beside her, clutching his satchel strap, "This is it, the high path, everyone ran this way once the fort started taking hands."
"Once?"
"Before the digging started," he whispered, pointing a shaky finger along the crest.
The path ran smooth along the ridge crest, wide enough for a cart and soft enough for any tired feet. Every fifty paces the soil sagged into collapsed pits, and torn packs lay half buried in the broken grey earth.
Juna crouched by the nearest pit, ears flattening at the sour smell, "Something's hunting the people your fort chased into these hills."
"A digger," Wren squeaked, backing up two steps, "it dragged a mule straight through the ground last week."
