That night, the caravan had camped deeper in the woods than usual, their tents pitched in a tight circle, surrounded by the carriages and wagons arranged defensively. The horses were tied down and fed, already uneasy, sensing something the others hadn't yet noticed. The people, hungry and tired, focused on one thing, food.
The aroma of cooked vegetables and dried meat wafted through the air as fires crackled, pots clanged, and conversation buzzed.
They hadn't eaten since morning, not after the second beast attack that had forced them to skip their midday meal. Exhaustion hung heavy in the air, but the smell of dinner brought a sliver of warmth to the group.
Lance sat quietly near the outer edge of the camp, one knee raised, elbow resting lazily atop it. His eyes were half-lidded without focus on anything, then gradually, they came open.
He stood, casting a glance into the darkness of the trees beyond the wagons, sensing what they others hadn't yet noticed.
