Silence filled the camp like a thick mist, hanging over everyone and stifling their will to be the first one to speak, or even to move, for fear of drawing Lady Ashlynn's attention. Darragh's blood covered the entire length of the longsword in Ashlynn's hand, but strangely, none of it had stained as much as the sleeves of her dress as she stood over the traitor's body.
"My Lady," Marcel said quietly, appearing beside her as though he'd stepped out of the dancing shadows cast by the camp fire. "We have some time still, but we should make preparations and depart soon," he reminded her.
"Depart?" Sir Rain said, blinking in surprise at the youthful merchant's statement. "It's the middle of the night. Shouldn't we camp here and move again when there's daylight?"
