The trail bent left through a notch of half-dead pine and kept going down. I didn't like it. Too quiet, too worn. Nothing recent had passed through—no carts, no patrol marks, no runner tags on the bark.
We were still a half-day from the village when Glare caught up.
"You slowed," he said.
"I was thinking."
"Did it help?"
"No."
He grunted and fell into step beside me. We didn't talk for a while after that. The trees thinned the closer we got. I could see smoke ahead—low, not urgent. Cooking fire, maybe. Or not.
The village had pinged the Guild three days ago with a flagged assistance request. Nothing unusual in the wording—light beast activity, supply line disruptions, possible leftover ruin effects—but the syntax caught my eye.
That wasn't enough to scream crisis. But it wasn't nothing. So I packed my gear, tapped Glare on the shoulder, and we left.
He hadn't asked where we were going. Just nodded and brought extra water.
