The silence that followed was brief. It was not peace. It was a breath drawn before descent.
Ludwig adjusted his stance, Oathcarver still gripped tight, Durandal humming low in his left hand, as if the scythe itself knew more blood was coming. It was. The forest had not gone quiet, it had only paused. A gathering. A preparation.
From somewhere deep in the dark, the sound of claws breaking bark returned. This time, not one, but many. Dozens of limbs moving through undergrowth, brushing against trunk and stone with no regard for concealment. They did not hunt like beasts now. They marched. The rhythm of it was off, too steady, too slow. As if something was directing their advance.
Robin's voice drifted down from the carriage roof, quieter than before. "Three more, front line. Black coats. Low and fast."
Timur drew another blade. "We don't have the spacing for a bottleneck. They're trying to rush us."
