The path toward the very heart of the West Way was a winding trail of rough earth and tall, yellow grass. We moved with a new kind of tension now. The sun was beating down, and the air felt heavy with the scent of dust and distant woodsmoke.
I kept my eyes on the horizon, thinking about everything I heard from the rebellious group that tried to attack their king. Seriously, who does that?
This world was supposed to be my dream, a place of wonder, but hearing the word 'enslave' had soured the air. It didn't matter if it was a primitive world of beastmen or my old world of concrete and civilization; greed always found a way to ruin things.
Fenric suddenly stopped, his nose twitching. He didn't drop into a combat stance, but his body went rigid.
"Something's in the bush," he muttered, his hand going to the rough stone knife at his belt.
