The horses' hooves pounded against the frozen earth, a rhythm that had become the only sound in the world. We rode in silence, the twelve of us, our breath misting in the cold air, our eyes fixed on the horizon where smoke stained the grey sky. There were no words for what we were riding toward. There was only the need, the desperate, urgent need to reach the village before it was too late.
Runa rode beside me, her face set, her sword drawn. She had not spoken since we left the ridgeline, and I did not expect her to. There was nothing to say that the pace of our horses did not already speak for us.
