The road north did not begin with ceremony.
It narrowed a little at a time, the packed mud thinning into rutted earth where old stone surfaced through neglect rather than use. Grass pressed in from the edges. The milestones that remained lay tilted or half-buried, their markings worn smooth by years of weather and disinterest.
They left Blackwood Post just after first light.
No one gave the order.
The carts began to move, wheels creaking as the axles warmed, and the rest followed without discussion. It was the kind of departure that happened when people had done this before and expected to do it again, provided nothing interfered.
Two carts. One mule each.
A man walked ahead of the lead animal, eyes fixed on the ground where the road dipped and rose. Another stayed near the rear cart, one hand never straying far from the rope that held its load in place. The rest filled the space between, spacing themselves by habit rather than instruction.
Kael—Tom, for now—walked near the back.
Not because he was told to.
Because there was room there, and because no one objected.
Someone had already said he was helping out. That explanation moved through the group quietly, passed along without his involvement. No one asked what he had done before. No one pressed him for details.
Names were currency. They were exchanged only when necessary.
The guards spread themselves as the road opened and closed. One drifted forward, pausing now and then to study the verge or the shallow ditches that ran alongside the track. Another kept closer to the carts, pace steady, steps heavy enough to leave deeper prints in the damp earth.
Lina ranged wider.
She climbed a low rise without comment, boots finding purchase on loose stone. She stayed there longer than required to simply look, scanning the slope ahead and the treeline beyond. When she returned, she didn't say anything.
The pace adjusted anyway.
The group accepted the shift in silence.
The morning settled into a rhythm.
Boots struck earth. Leather creaked. Breath found a steady pattern. The road revealed itself slowly, offering only what lay immediately ahead. Long stretches passed without conversation, broken only by the occasional word exchanged to warn of a rut or a loose stone.
Kael watched without appearing to.
He tracked how often each person looked back. How frequently they checked the road ahead. Who paid attention to sound, and who relied on sight alone.
This wasn't a formation.
It was proximity shaped by experience, by fear, by the unspoken understanding of how quickly a mistake could spread.
They stopped near midday.
Not because someone announced it, but because the carts slowed and no one urged them on.
Bread came out. Dried meat. A skin passed from hand to hand, each person taking a measured swallow before passing it along. No one lingered over their portion.
Kael sat on a flat stone and ate his ration slowly. The dense block held together, unpleasant but effective. He chewed with care, letting his stomach settle before taking another bite.
Across from him, one of the guards watched his hands for a moment.
"You don't eat like you're expecting a long rest," the man said.
"I eat when there's time," Kael replied.
The guard considered that, then nodded and looked away.
Lina stood apart from the rest, loosening her shoulders, gaze fixed on the road ahead. When she glanced back, her eyes passed over Kael—and paused.
Kael felt it and looked up at the same time.
Their eyes met.
She took in his posture, the way he sat, the way his bow rested within easy reach. The assessment lasted no more than a heartbeat.
She turned away and went back to checking her bowstring.
The road climbed in the afternoon.
The incline was shallow, but it shortened breath and slowed the carts. One mule balked, hooves sliding on loose gravel, and had to be coaxed forward with quiet words and a firm hand.
No one complained.
They adjusted without discussion, spacing widening slightly to account for the slope. Sweat dampened collars despite the cold. When the ground leveled out again, the pace recovered on its own.
Kael felt the pull in his muscles from the previous day's adjustments. The sensation wasn't pain. It was a reminder, deep and persistent, that his body was still settling into its new limits.
He welcomed it.
Better this than surprise.
They didn't stop early.
They stopped when the light thinned and the trees pressed close enough that the road felt narrower than it was. A shallow clearing offered just enough space to pull the carts aside and build a fire that wouldn't advertise itself too widely.
Stones were arranged. Wood was broken by hand rather than axe.
The fire burned low.
Kael took the second watch without being asked.
He sat with his back to a tree, hood up, bow resting across his knees. The weapon felt settled now, its weight familiar, the balance exact. He ran a thumb once along the grip and then left it alone.
Something moved in the dark beyond the firelight. Small. Light. The sound faded without drawing closer.
Lina crossed the edge of the light and stopped nearby.
"You walk quietly," she said.
"So do you."
She acknowledged that with a slight tilt of her head. No smile. No challenge.
She stood there for a moment longer, eyes on the treeline, then moved on without another word.
The fire cracked softly.
Somewhere farther down the road, a branch snapped under weight too light to be human.
The fire cracked softly.
Kael went still. He didn't look toward the sound. Instead, his hand moved slowly from his knee to the grip of his bow. The night wasn't empty.