The detachment reached the rock alcove just as the sun began to bleed into the horizon. From this vantage point, Hermi could see the Primary Cave.
It sat like a yawning wound at the base of the opposite ridge. Even from a few hundred yards away, the entrance felt imposing, looking like a serrated maw nearly forty feet high.
As the horses were picketed and the fires flickered to life, Hermi noticed a shift in the evening routine. The squires were occupied with a far more deliberate task than simply preparing rations.
They were unburdening the pack mules of heavy crates wrapped in thick canvas. When the covers were pulled back, they revealed rows of glass jars filled with a viscous, amber resin, along with massive leather pouches.
Intrigued by the specialized gear, Hermi approached the closest squire. "Excuse me," she said, gesturing to the crates. "What are those resin jars and pouches for?"
