The word came at dawn.
A scout stumbled into camp half-running, half-falling, one hand pressed against his side and blood dried down the front of his shirt.
The camp changed before he finished speaking.
"Patrol."
Hale was already moving.
"How many?"
"Eight. Maybe ten."
"Where?"
"North road."
The scout bent over, dragging air back into his lungs.
"Scavenging group crossed them. Terin, Sol, and Meret."
Hale stopped.
Vane saw the answer forming in his face before the scout managed to say it.
"Sol's dead."
The camp went still.
"Meret too."
A breath.
"Terin was alive."
Hale's eyes sharpened.
"Was?"
"They took him."
That silence felt different from the others Vane had learned since arriving here.
Children stopped playing.
A woman near the cookfire lowered the bowl in her hands.
Nobody asked what being taken meant.
Apparently everyone already knew.
