Days passed quickly after Soren left the North, though the journey itself felt slow in the way all long travels do, measured not by distance but by the steady creak of wooden wheels, sway of the road, and the dull rhythm of hooves striking packed earth.
They were still far from any destination that could be called certain while merely following trade routes and whatever direction the merchant caravan happened to take.
Like always, Soren and Elias rode inside one of the merchants' carriages not in the front where one could sit upright and speak freely but, in the back where goods were stacked in careful bundles. Crates of dried produce, rolled fabrics, sealed jars, and tied sacks surrounded them, filling nearly every inch of space. Yet the two of them had grown used to this kind of travel.
With practiced ease, they would shift the smaller bundles aside, wedge themselves into narrow gaps, and settle into whatever position allowed their limbs to fit without going numb too quickly.
